


Even Fools Can Dance

by song_of_fate



Category: Broadchurch, Masters of Sex
Genre: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller Are Best Friends, Alec POV, Annoyances to Friends to Lovers, Banter, Based in Broadchurch, Bill POV, Ellie Miller has all the friend rights, If We Just Keep Arguing We Won't Have to Admit Our Feelings, M/M, POV Alternating, Post S4 Bill, Post Sandbrook, Post-Surgery, Snark, and then they were neighbors, bill dealing with how much of a bastard he is, get-together, grumpy idiots in love, sleepy town love story, slow and steady burn, they don't know they're dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_fate/pseuds/song_of_fate
Summary: Bill had run from his problems like a coward, praying that they wouldn't follow as he tried to dig himself up from a pit of his own creation.Hardy was finally free of the ghost of Sandbrook and his dying heart was on the mend, not expecting that health would leave room for a longing for something he couldn't quite place.They meet by chance. And then on purpose.Fate is a funny thing.(or) wherein two lonely hearts argue their way into a friendship they didn't expect and a love that accepts no excuses.
Relationships: Alec Hardy/William Masters
Comments: 104
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need 8000 more years of these idiots working out their shit and being together. This is me contributing. T^T

_You never know when you're gonna meet someone  
And your whole wide world, in a moment, comes undone  
You're just walking around then suddenly  
Everything that you thought that you knew about love is gone  
You find out it's all been wrong _

Start of Something Good — Daughtry

He’d heard it said, once or twice, that fate was a funny thing. Bill should have probably been the last to say so, the way his life lay in shambles at his feet. How the cavity of his chest felt hollow and scraped raw with a dull knife. The remains of a person he could barely recognize anymore. 

There had been nothing funny about the way Libby’s screams still echoed in his ears, or later, how stark the sudden calm had struck him when she told him to leave. Kind, enduring Libby, with all the brightness of her left shrunken down into tiny pinpricks of glass. 

His children were a matter still to be discussed. _A matter._ As though they were just another box to be checked in the long list of affairs to settle. He hated how easy it had been to run from the idea of them, but it was worse to know that he wouldn’t know what to do with them right now.

Virginia hadn’t yelled, or screamed, or thrown his things. No, she had quietly demanded the separation of their prior activities with a tight smile that held no room for argument. Reminding him with clinical detachment how their work had always been the most important thing—and that his ideas of anything different were simply distractions they could no longer afford.

The lawsuit followed soon after, another result of his single-minded intention to be the best, to be _known._ It had backfired in his face just like everything else, and by then, he wasn't sure what he was fighting for. 

And well, he was certainly known _now_. Except it was no longer just about his research, or his affluence. It was also the tattered, soulless bits of him that he hadn’t quite figured out how to pick back up off the ground. Exposed.

It may have been that he didn’t deserve the luxury of hurting, but it lay there anyway. Heavy in his bones, even as he sat on the bench overlooking the breathtaking view that was Broadchurch in the morning light. The sun cast itself upon the sea as it rose, spread out its rays over the water, and onto the quiet sand as the town itself had not quite woken up. 

Here he was; virtually lifeless, publicly shamed, and standing in the result of his impulsive attempt to put as much distance between himself and his failings as possible. Where even now the sunlight refused to warm him through.

And it was a funny thing, he thought, to barely hold himself together in a strange place and feel any semblance of peace. Even if it wasn’t his to find.

* * *

Like all animals, Bill Masters required sustenance to survive. The underlying problem with that, at the moment, was that he hadn’t been able to find the drive to stock the tiny fridge in his cottage as of yet. It forced him out at least a couple of times a day, and as his internal clock had refused to yield even under the duress of jet lag, he often found himself walking the quiet cliffs until something opened up. 

There was a cafe not far from his rental that was near empty at this hour, save for a few other early rising patrons sitting quietly in separate corners of the room. Smells wafted from the kitchen; fresh bread and sweetness, the anticipation of a breakfast rush to come. A quirky blend of old architecture and modern interior, deep grey, and white without appearing aloof. Wood had a tendency to soften a home, it seems it did much the same here. 

“Good Morning!” a bright voice chimed in time with the bell at the door. It belonged to a fair-haired woman, somewhere around his age, he assumed. She had the air of someone at ease with her surroundings, righting items behind the counter with a sure hand and flitting around with, God forbid, a bit of a bounce in her step. “What’ll you be havin’? The bread is fresh out if you fancy yourself a sandwich or a scone, and I can have the tea ready in a tick.”

Judging by the slack feeling of his face, Bill could only assume he looked somewhere in the realm of owlish. It took effort to untwist the scowl on his lips as if frowning were his default expression. Perhaps it was. “Coffee, if you have it.” He said, almost regretting it when her eyebrows rose into her hairline. “And it’s not too much trouble. I have never really attempted tea.” 

“Ah! An American, how lovely,” She cooed at him, with all the fondness of someone not at least five years his junior. “I’m Efa. Welcome to Broadchurch Mr—”

“Masters,” Bill replied, then pressed his lips together. He couldn’t be sure, with the way American newspapers ran if people had heard of him here. It was _not_ something he wanted to deal with right now if he could avoid it. “Just Bill will be fine.” 

It wasn’t fine, really. It felt wrong to give permission for a total stranger to acknowledge him so casually. But ‘Bill’ was as boring of a name as a man could get, and a much easier deterrent for people attempting to put two and two together. 

He just wanted the quiet to last.

“Bill,” Efa’s smile grew. “We’ve coffee around the back if you don't mind waiting. And I'll forgive that quip about the tea, so long as you let me feed you a little something as well.” She winked and Bill, unsure of how to respond to so much enthusiasm so very early in the morning, managed a nod for lack of anything else to do. Efa shooed him over toward a table towards the window with promises of sweet bread that he hadn’t asked for and hot coffee. 

He sat where he’d been bid to, casting a glance out of the large front window. Efa returned moments later just as she’d claimed, but also with a newspaper tucked under her arm that she offered to him. “If you’d like. Always good to catch up on the latest.” 

“Thank you,” Bill said, taking it from her and scanning the front page. There was an article featured in bold lettering about arson on the north end. The picture was of a hollowed-out building, a store perhaps. Its windows stood stark, charred out with the remains of smoke and ash. “Something I should know about?”

She shrugged, pulling cream and sugar apparently out of thin air before placing it on the table next to him. “Couple of wiley idiots if you ask me. Probably messing about and caught something on that they couldn’t put back out. It’s about as exciting as it gets around here, the occasional fire or theft. Since the Latimer case finally closed, that is. We’re a quiet town.” He felt her eyes on him, studying his overgrown beard and the casual sweater he was still getting used to wearing in public. “Are you here long?” 

“No,” he paused. “Yes.” 

Efa raised her eyebrow. 

“I’m renting a cottage in West Cliff,” Bill amended. “I’m not sure yet how long I’m staying. I just—” 

“Needed a getaway,” Efa finished for him kindly. She rose and stepped back with another easy grin. “Say no more. Broadchurch is as good a place as any to find yourself again. I'll leave you to enjoy your breakfast.” 

Bill opened his mouth, but his response was interrupted by the chime of the door. Efa’s expression shifted, her mouth twisting to purse at the side. 

She graced Bill with a final smile and nod before walking over to meet with the newcomer. There was a word, something suspiciously like “behave” hissed into the air before Efa disappeared into the back once again. 

Customers came in a steady trickle after that, the quiet space slowly filling up with conversations and daily routines. Bill lifted the coffee to his lips, let it slide hot and bitter over his tongue as the cafe came alive around him. Blanketed in the comfort of knowing no one, he let himself relax. 

By the time he’d settled breakfast and finished his second cup of coffee, Bill was half-heartedly perusing the real estate section of the local paper when the chair in front of him slid out and back in in a flurry of movement. He looked up to see what he assumed to be the attempt at a disarming grin from a man who couldn't possibly be out of his early twenties. There was a look to him, a voracious sparkle in the eye that did not appear to bode well for Bill. 

“Morning Mr. Masters. Olly Stevens, _Broadchurch Echo_.” He deftly tapped on the paper Bill was reading. “That’d be this if you didn’t know.” 

Bill’s lips pressed together. “I’m aware of the paper. I do not know you, however.” He lowered the paper and folded it out and away from the boy’s hands. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Olly’s grin grew, nothing at all like the kindness of Efa’s, and Bill let a coolness settle over his expression. This was the look of a boy on a mission and he’d already decided that he wanted no part of it. “Well I can’t say we’ve met before Mr. Masters, but everybody who’s keeping up on the news circuits knows all about _you._ I was wondering if I could maybe have a word. You know; ask some questions, see how you’re settling in. _Are_ you settling in Broadchurch, Mr. Masters? Ya know— _Permanently_? Does it have anything to do with—”

Bill narrowed his eyes but allowed little else to show on his face. These were the type of people who would use every poorly planned word against you if they got the chance. He didn’t intend to give this _child_ the opportunity. “I don’t work with reporters. Now, if you wouldn’t mind—” he snagged his paper, reaching into his wallet to pull out a tip for Efa (who had been nothing but pleasant and still managed to leave him alone) and made to leave. 

“ _Wait_ —” Olly stuttered, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste to skid after him. 

The bell dinged again (at this point Bill was ready to consider it a horrible omen) and the door swung open with a ferocity that surprised even him. In came a man with a furious scowl dressed in a suit that hung in odd places from his gangly form, his wallet dangled from long, thin fingers in anticipation of his purchase. He glanced around, taking in all of the current movement of the cafe and only stopping when his eyes landed on the man that had been accosting Bill with an irate glare. He stiffened instantly, a threatening noise rumbling out from his lungs. 

Olly tried for another one of his _smiles_ , but the color had rushed out of him far faster than he managed to recover his charm.

“Oliver!” The newcomer snarled, his accent thick with a Scottish brogue and righteous fury as he stalked across the cafe, with not an ounce of care for the bewildered stares of the other patrons. “Mind explaining what the _hell_ you were doing?!” He held up his phone, leaning it so close to Olly’s head his eyes crossed. Whatever it was, Olly did not seem surprised so much as disappointed that he’d been caught. “I _told you_ to keep your drivel to yourself until we released the evidence to the press.” 

“I was just getting out the facts, Hardy. The people deserve—” The man, Hardy, growled menacingly and the boy stopped in his proverbial tracks. Skinny as he was, Hardy’s entire being appeared to be thrown behind the weight of his words. Whatever threat lay behind those eyes, Olly Stevens did not seem content to test his luck. 

“If this compromises the investigation in _any_ way, I’ll have you dragged off for obstruction of justice _and_ I’ll let Miller do it herself so she can kick your weasley little arse while she does it.” 

Well, that certainly explained a few things. Reporters had a tendency to get in the way everywhere, but in a place that was likely as small and intimate as Broadchurch, it wasn’t surprising that Olly had had more than one run-in with the local authorities. Olly was now slowly attempting to tiptoe his way from sound Bill and he stepped away before he could do something absurd like lay hands on him in the process. 

“And _you_ ,” Hardy rounded that steady gaze on Bill. “Are you in on this? What, there’s not enough excitement in Bournemouth for you to jabber on about?” His scoff was all disgust, lips curling up in a sneer as if he knew exactly what type of man Bill was. “Had to come sniffing after a tragedy that doesn’t even belong to you?”

Heat crawled up the back of Bill’s neck, unpleasant and spiking, “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’m not here _with_ _him_. I'm just here for— coffee.” He held up his cup as if this would explain everything. Hardy was undeterred.

"And I'm supposed to believe that? Like you American journalists haven't been skulking around the area since bloody April. I've said it once and I'll say it again: there's _nothing further to report_. It's over." 

It was one thing to someone to distrust him because of his profession, or prior knowledge of his past, but to be accused of something so stupid due to paranoia _alone_ —

"It doesn't matter what you _believe._ That's the truth of it." 

"Seems to me you know plenty," Hardy gestured toward the newspaper that Bill was rapidly considering burning the moment he was alone. " _Ah_ , I see how this went. Grainy phone images not enough for you, Olly? Had to hire a photographer? Capture the juicy story that was the burnt-out husk of someone’s livelihood?" 

Bill gaped, incredulous. Of all the things he'd been accused of in his life, this had to be the most far-fetched. "I’m—I’m not a photographer—or a _reporter_ — I’m a doctor.” 

"In a manner of speaking,” Olly muttered only to jump back when Bill shot him a ruthless glare before turning back to the officer. 

“I don’t know who either of you are,” Bill snapped. “I don’t particularly care. What kind of officer even _are_ you, running around accusing perfect strangers of nothing?”

If there had been conversations happening around them, they came to a startling halt. Bill had the sudden ugly realization that everyone was now staring at them full-stop. 

Hardy had paused in his tirade, his chest still heaving like the effort to raise his voice took too much out of him. Olly was peeking in from the side with his brown eyes as wide as saucer plates as he swiveled his head between the two of them.

A few breaths and Hardy’s face shifted, a snort of disbelief changing the lines of his face so dramatically he barely looked like the same man. He had a grin that looked like it would crack him in half, and it didn't even attempt to reach his eyes. “‘Suppose it could be possible you aren’t anyone after all.” 

Bill could feel the way his mouth hung open just slightly. The entire situation was _absurd_. He'd carried apathy like a shield for a good portion of his life, knowing exactly when not to react and when to at least make it appear as if he did. It was a testament, then, just how thoroughly Bill entertained the idea of wiping that infuriating smirk off the man's face himself. 

Olly must have seen his chance, because he slipped between them with the inherent speed of a wild limbed infant, knocking into Hardy as he made for the door. "Well, gents, I can't say this hasn't been fun but uh–" he pointed outside, skipping backward on his toes, barely managing the handle behind him before he ran into it and headed out into the street before anyone else could react. 

"Oh for goodness sake," Efa muttered, breaking the momentary silence. It seemed to spur everyone else onward and Bill heard a snort from beside him. "Anything else for you then, Detective Inspector, or have you had your fill this morning?" 

Hardy at the very least had the grace to look a bit chagrined, but he shook his head. "I'm late as it is, thanks." He shot off toward the door with a strange, ambling grace but paused with his hand on the door to shoot Bill what he supposed was another warning look. "And I'll be expecting _you_ to stay out of trouble as well."

The moment the door shut it was as if it had never happened; people turned back to their meals, Efa and her staff rushed about in a flurry. All business as usual despite the wildly dramatic interruption to their morning.

Though it wasn’t hard to notice a few that kept their eyes on him, their murmurs were quiet enough that Bill chose to ignore them in favor of relieving himself of the embarrassment of the situation as soon as possible. It wasn’t that he didn’t have experience of being the center of attention, it was simply that that was exactly what he hadn’t _wanted_ when he came in here. 

“Bastard,” Bill hissed under his breath before he could stop himself. His skin felt hot, his pulse thrumming with energy like it did when he knew he was getting away with something he shouldn’t have (only to be promptly snuffed out with the familiar shame of it) but if anything, he couldn’t deny that he was most definitely awake. 

Something brushed the toe of his boot and he frowned down at the offending hunk of dark folded leather. His hand immediately slid into his own pocket to check that he hadn’t dropped his own wallet before kneeling down to pick it up. It had been sleek once but had been worn down since then, the leather soft under his fingers. Could have been the over-zealous Olly’s he supposed, flipping it open. 

The face that stared back at him didn’t belong to Olly but was instead the grim, dark-eyed scowl of one DI Hardy. _Alec Hardy_ the ID card supplied, and Bill frowned right back at it as if he could push all the bright, fuzzy irritation that clung to his skin through the plastic and back to the man that caused it. 

He should give it to Efa, let her report it, and have it brought in. Or leave it with the front desk. Surely they had a protocol for this sort of thing. People left their belongings all the time. He was going to do just that. 

Except that his feet began moving of their own accord, his phone sliding out of his pocket and his fingers mapping the address of Broadchurch’s police department.

 _Ironic,_ he thought as he began to walk in the general vicinity of where he’d left his rental car. 

Turned out conviction was far easier to come by when you had an excuse to talk yourself into it _._


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm a liar, I'm a cynic_   
_I'm a sinner, I'm a saint_   
_I'm a loser, I'm a critic_   
_I'm the ghost of my mistakes_   
_And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want_   
_What are you after?_   
_Some kind of disaster?_

Some Kind of Disaster — All Time Low

Hardy could grant a concession to the fact that he hadn't been at his best that morning. Known as he was for being, well, _himself_ , it wasn't his usual fare to go steamrolling after someone caught in the crossfire without some sort of proof. 

But it also hadn’t been the first time he’d caught Olly bloody Stevens squirreled away in one of Broadchurch’s many corners with some big-town journalist. Always hoping they’d spirit him away to the national circuit at the expense of someone else's privacy. 

Somehow, the little brat had managed to once again wriggle his way in where he was not meant to be, causing problems with his assumptions and his twitchy fingers. It was hard enough to lure in an arsonist as it was without someone posting a glaring sign that the police were aware there was someone to _find._

So the new face had not been much of a surprise, but it wasn’t until the man had spoken up that Hardy had bothered to let his brain catch up. He'd been all tense-jawed with wild dark curls shot through with grey, a close trimmed beard, and the deer-in-the-headlights look of a man who was certainly not used to being confronted in a public setting.

If he _had_ been some kind of journalist, he couldn’t have been an effective one. His prim American accent curling over the word _doctor_ had rung like a bell in Hardy’s mind — a snag in the motorway of his thoughts that claimed _truth,_ even if he had a bit of a haunted look about him _._

Still, he’d half expected the poor fool to make a run for it the way he’d reacted when Hardy’d come barrelling into the cafe and straight for Olly’s throat. No, instead, the stranger had squared his shoulders and pressed back at Hardy like he’d just remembered what his spine was for. That had been a shift worth watching if he’d had ever seen one. Strange kaleidoscope eyes narrowed and mouth taught as a bowstring as he flung Hardy’s vitriol right back at him—

All encompassed in yet another potential pain in the arse if the _Broadchurch Echo_ was after his story. Hardy was clear out of both room and patience for another one of those. He’d have to make a note to keep an eye out for whatever unfolded there, but his priority right now was finding their new resident fire-starter. 

“Mor-ning!” Came the happy chirp of his most unrelenting pain in the arse, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of photos in the other. She eyed the mess of scribblings on his desk with a judgemental raise of her eyebrow. “Another late night or early rising, then?” 

“Don't start, Miller,” was Hardy’s greeting. He slid his glasses onto his nose without looking at her.“You know I don’t sleep.” 

“Yes, I rather think that’s the reason why you’re always such a tit in the morning.” 

“Lovely,” he muttered, “Have you any idea what your idiot nephew pulled this time?” 

Miller flinched, mouth pinching through her enthusiasm. “ _Stupid_ boy. I don’t know what to do with him. I expect Maggie’ll be frog-marching him our way as we speak.” 

Frowning, Hardy leaned back in his chair. “I don’t need another apology. I need that _idiot_ to stay out of police business. If he can’t keep his nose clean, I’ll be sending you to handle him. Mark my words.” 

“Yes, sir,” Miller sighed, tilting her head in concession. Satisfied, he went to return to his work, expecting her to leave, but movement out of the corner of his eye found her lowering herself onto the small couch in his office instead. Hardy eyed her warily. 

“Was there something else?”

If looks alone could call him a sodding idiot, “ _Please_. Did you really think word wasn’t going to get around about the rest of it? Go on then, let’s hear all about the poor man you likely frightened back across the pond.” 

“Don’t be dramatic,” he scoffed. “We don’t have time for gossip. In case you’ve forgotten, someone set the florist shop on _fire_.” 

Her lips thinned momentarily, “And the fire investigators are doing their part. At least no one was hurt.”

“Can’t imagine Pryce would agree with you, seeing as his entire stock was sent up, but go on.” 

“You’re being evasive,” Disbelief colored her tone. “Get your knickers in a twist, did he?” 

“Miller,” he warned. 

“Oh, of course, right.” She said, reaching out to shut his office door and plop back down with a satisfied grin as if the implication hadn’t been for her to do the exact opposite. “Continue.” 

His mouth twisted in a snarl as they eyed each other, waiting for someone to fold first. It was becoming far too common, this battle of wills, and Hardy supposed if he was more of a bastard he could get her for insubordination but he wouldn’t and they both knew it. It didn’t help that she was emanating a true calm this morning; contentment that he had only seen of her in handfuls since the Latimer case came to a close. Despite his best efforts, he found himself granting her these small things more often than not as of late. Even if he knew he’d be regretting it later. 

“For heaven’s sake,” Hardy growled finally. “I thought he was another journalist. He wasn’t. Some doctor, apparently. American. ‘Gave me a bit of a once over for my mistake, and Oliver ran off with his tail between his legs while I was distracted. That was the end of it. Can we carry on?”

“Distracted, you say,” Miller’s voice rose and fell as she leaned forward with an ever-growing grin that annoyed him on sight. “ _And?_ ”

“There’s nothing more to tell.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes at him, her gaze snagging and catching on something outside his office window for a moment. “What’d he look like?” 

“H—” Hardy cut himself off, hardening his glare. “What does it _matter?”_

“Well if I’m to keep my nephew from garnering a harassment charge on top of everything else it’d help to know who I was to look out for, wouldn’t it?”

This woman was set to drive him mad. A timid knock at the door interrupted them before Hardy could shoot back at her, “What?” he snapped at the head that poked in. Marshalls stumbled over his words and Miller snapped her fingers in his direction to give him something else to focus on. 

“Er, DS Miller—Would you mind—?” 

“Yes, yes go on then James, my goodness he won’t _bite._ ” She stood, dropping the photos she’d brought on the edge of his desk before catching the door as Marshalls made a hasty retreat and chattering at him: “We’re not done, I hope you realize.” but he was already too distracted by the scene photos to bother waving her out. 

* * *

What on earth had possessed Bill to get this far was completely beyond him at this point. He stood awkwardly in the lobby of the Broadchurch police station, gripping tightly to his reason for being here like it would provide him the answers he sought. The man at the front desk had been all too bored of him from the moment he’d entered, barely even flicking an eye up to meet his until he’d uttered the phrase ‘DI Hardy’. Only then had the officer decided to gather some sort of sense of urgency. 

There was no telling what he actually expected as a result but it wasn’t the curly-haired woman who marched out for him or the easy smile she threw his way. 

“Good afternoon, sir, I’m DS Miller.” She nodded politely. “Was there something I could do for you?”

Bill knew of people who smiled like a blade to the throat, the ones that studied and waited and watched for anything that could be used against you, but this woman was certainly not that. There was something sincere in her; naturally soothing. It was unfortunate that it didn’t appear to be affecting him in the slightest. 

Bill cleared his throat, showing her the wallet. “I’m here for DI Hardy," he repeated then stopped, considering. “Or—I suppose I should give this to you? He dropped it at the cafe earlier and I thought it best to see it returned.” 

DI Miller’s lips twitched in a poor excuse to hide her smile, a flash of something like recognition lifting the apples of her cheeks. What was it about this place that had everyone looking at him as if they already knew all of his secrets? 

“ _Oh,_ so that was _you_.” Her dark eyes sparkled keenly and Bill tried not to think too hard about what that could possibly mean. “Well now, no need for that, since you’ve come all this way yourself.” she stepped aside to let him in. “He’s in his office ignoring his lunch as usual. I don’t see why you can’t pop in and give it to him.” 

This felt like a trap, somehow. The woman was entirely too cheery for his comfort and suddenly the entire endeavor was proving petty and childish enough to make his ears burn. 

“I don’t know him,” he felt the need to blurt out. “And I don’t want to intrude. I just—” 

“Nonsense,” she said over her shoulder, already walking away. “It’ll be just a tick. I’m sure he’ll be grateful _.”_

DS Miller was expecting him to follow her, and Bill found himself doing just that despite his mind’s fervent attempt to convince him otherwise. They weaved through the building, Bill following close enough at her heels to hopefully indicate that he was with her. The station was full of people, heads bent together as they walked folded over their source of attention. Some of those heads turned towards him, curious stares boring into his back as he followed her, once again letting the gazes slide off his back for his own sanity’s sake. 

“Do you often just let anyone into your station?”

“Depends,” She said, gesturing into the open floor plan currently riddled with desks, used teacups, and miles of paperwork that hardly looked any kind of organized. Bill’s gaze swung to the glass office in the corner at the back of the room, where the very man he’d been looking for was indeed ignoring his sandwich in favor of scribbling furiously. “If I see you trying to snoop through files that will be a different story entirely. But dropping something off won’t cause any harm will it?” 

Bill cast a glance over his shoulder to the Detective Inspector’s window. Hardy’s hair was a fluffy mess, the result of hands running through it as it fell over his forehead in some places and stuck up in others. A thoughtful scowl deepened the lines of his face as long fingers twirled a pen in his hand in thought; it moved round and round before periodically tapping against his desk and starting again. He gripped it suddenly to write something else down, still twitching. There was manic energy coiled in that skinny frame, made all the thinner to Bill’s eyes by the lack of a jacket. It was a wonder all the rage Hardy had exuded in the cafe hadn’t twisted that body into knots. 

“I suppose not,” he said, turning back to her. She leaned against an empty desk, her smile still touching her mouth.

“Go on,” Miller bade him. 

There was a particular kind of tension that arose when people were attempting to keep their eyes off of a subject of interest; whether that be a person, a situation, or an object. The air grew tight, the muscles warming in something anticipatory, the eyes roving without conscious thought. It was a phenomenon he’d witnessed plenty of times in his line of work — the sensuality of the build-up. 

Of course, in this instance, it was simply the result of a group of grown adults showing how incapable they were of minding their own business. 

He overlooked the ducking heads of the other men and women in the area, straight back at Miller who simply nodded him forward. Without another thought, he raised his hand to knock, pushing the door open at the affirming grunt from inside. 

“Miller, I need the list of—” Hardy glanced up and away then back again, mouth moving oddly as he attempted to reformulate his words. “Oh no, you have _got_ to be kidding me. Who let _you_ in here?" He demanded.

"Your staff," Bill said as he entered, not bothering to close the door. “Comforting to see that your winning personality extends outside of social situations.” He held up the wallet as the man sputtered at him, satisfaction curling in his gut at being able to catch him off guard, "Would probably serve you right for some teenager to run off with your credit card, but I believe this is yours." 

“ _Bollocks_ , I didn’t leave anything—” Hardy's glasses slid down his nose, consternation wrinkling his brow. He stood to check his pockets, grumbling when he found they were indeed empty. "Does the brat have you stealing now as well?" 

"I've already _told_ you I’m not a journalist." Bill threw his hands up in exasperation. 

(If either of them had been paying any attention, this is when they'd have seen a group of Detectives slowly rolling their chairs into a cluster to best catch the view between Hardy's blinds)

"Which is what a foreign journalist would be saying if they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't."

Bill was near unsuccessful in his attempt to not roll his eyes, "You are _entirely_ too paranoid to be of any use to the general public." He said, coming forward to toss the wallet into the desk. It landed and slid, scattering everything in its path before settling in Hardy’s lap. (The room outside collectively held their breath) He stared at it for a moment before lifting his head slow enough that the glare he pinned Bill with should have probably been more frightening than it was. Bill kept his expression neutral, but his mouth was twitching. "Thank you" is generally the term we use to express gratitude if you weren't aware." 

“Thank you,” Hardy responded in the least grateful tone he could muster. “For returning the property you likely _nicked_ and cowed out about, but I have a million things to do so—” He waved the pen in his hand at the door, dismissing. “If you don’t _mind_.”

Disdain was familiar territory to him now. Cold calculation he knew well. All the strange smiles and exhaustively kind natures of the townspeople had been grating on Bill in ways he wasn’t able to fully articulate until now. But here, with Hardy glaring daggers at him from under a fringe of ridiculous hair, Bill felt more like himself than he had in _weeks._

“Is it customary over here to insult strangers, or is that just a hobby of yours?" 

Hardy, for his part, looked as if he sincerely wished for Hell to swallow him up. His expression fell into exasperation with far too much ease. "Listen, Doctor—"

"Bill. Bill Masters." 

" _Bill,"_ Hardy spat like the single syllable offended him. Bill’s gaze twitched sideways at the sound of a snort of laughter being stifled. “Of course it is.” With a great sigh, Hardy heaved himself into a standing position, leaning over the desk with his arms spread about the length of it. He really was very _long._ “Fine. If you're going to insist on trying to have it out. It was just a simple case of mistaken identity." Hardy paused just long enough to bare his teeth, "I— _apologize_ —” another snort of laughter sounded, but Bill was far too focused on the way the words seemed to creak out of Hardy’s throat. 

“Please, don’t strain yourself,” Bill muttered. 

Hardy let out an inhuman noise, something between a growl and a hiss. “What, are apologies not good enough for you? I realize you're probably used to _groveling_ but if that's what you're after you won't be finding it from me.”

_Have I ever been good enough for you?_

Bill stopped. Breathed in. 

Memories could be triggered by the most mundane of circumstances. He couldn’t have in a thousand years expected to look at this grizzled, frowning inspector and somehow hear Libby’s echo riding on the wing of Hardy’s words. 

_She_ had been good enough. No, she’d been better. Far more than he’d ever deserved, and never really _his_ to keep. It was strange how he’d go so long with barely a thought spared for her when they were married, and now she seemed to haunt him at every turn. 

No, he thought, not strange. _Telling._

Hardy, of course, chose this moment to be irritatingly perceptive. His brows drew together at the hitch in Bill's breathing, "You come in making all this noise and that’s what trips you up? Unbelievable." 

* * *

Hardy spent his life watching people. Cataloging their queues and their ticks. Memorizing how often they tugged at their ears or twitched their fingers when they lied. So it was particularly glaring the way the other man disappeared behind his own eyes and how different they looked when he came back.

Bill went somewhere jarring enough that the smirk he’d had creeping into play since he'd so unceremoniously barged in through Hardy's door had slipped off entirely. When he spoke again his tone had changed, coming contemplative and sober: "No. It’s only that I’m not usually in the position to receive apologies." 

Hardy eyed him. "I couldn't possibly understand why." He said, "Don't go getting used to it either." With that stall in their exchange, the tension eased enough that Hardy sat back down. "But in this case, I'll admit I may have let my temper get ahead of me. I _am_ sorry for it." 

Bill– _Masters,_ he reminded himself _—_ startled at his words, as if he hadn't expected Hardy to be capable of anything else than what he’d seen so far. Hardy was used to people making assumptions about him (in fact, sometimes it even proved useful to let them) but there always came a point where you grew tired of strangers putting their own labels on you. 

"Well," he said. "Thank you. For that." Bill looked around and cleared his throat, unsure of how to proceed. "I imagine it's a difficult enough job without someone stealing information out from under you." 

_Well, that was a change in tack._ "It can be, yes," Hardy said. He leaned back in his chair, taking in the shifts and changes on the other man’s face. "Though I suppose the sudden appearance of a good _Samaritan_ —” he let his accent drag, not quite all sarcasm but enough to make the man’s shoulders tense, “— is a helpful break in the monotony." 

“Has anyone ever told you that you are absolutely infuriating?”

“Was there a part of this where your opinion mattered?"

Bill did roll his eyes a bit then, his eyebrows pinning Hardy with reproach he didn't bother to voice. Hardy's lips curved as he folded his hands in his lap. Something was lightening on the man's face; maybe a sudden awareness that he was still standing in the middle of a police station bickering with the DI with no real reason in sight. 

“I don’t even know why I'm here. I had a lot of things I was _planning_ on saying to you and then you ruined it by apologizing. I suppose we’ll have to leave things as they are until your next tantrum.” He said loftily. 

“Tantrum, he says. Really.” Hardy lifted his eyebrows. Before his surgery, Hardy’s chest had often felt like a void, tearing and pulling as it tried to consume the rest of him. Now, without the distraction of his unreliable heart, he could recognize the sudden lightness as he caught Bill's slowly dawning embarrassment as something like _laughter._ “And you’re expecting around two?”

“I—” Bill started, an awkwardness lining the slump in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Hardy blinked away the apparition of the smirking fiend who'd come to bust his balls not ten minutes ago. “Well, no. I’d prefer not. Hopefully, if we happen upon each other again I’d much rather it be under less dramatic circumstances." 

Alec Hardy did not _gape_ at anything, much less uppity American men, but it was a near thing as he tried to muster up a response. 

“You know what I mean,” Bill huffed impatiently at Hardy’s silence. 

“I promise you I don’t.”

“I—” 

Whatever Bill was going to say died there on his tongue when someone gasped loudly. He shot a bewildered look from over his shoulder and Hardy lifted his head to squint through the blinds, only just noticing someone scrambling back into their chair. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. Everyone was really set on trying his patience, weren’t they?

The doctor was shifting on his feet now, itching to get out from under all the eyes on him. “Well.” He tilted his head, mouth pursing. “As interesting as this has been, I won't take up more of your time. Goodbye, Inspector.” 

Bill nodded in some ingrained act of civility and was from Hardy’s sight the next moment, breezing past the curious stares and out the door, leaving him with his face screwed up in confusion and feeling oddly bereft. It was only then that Hardy noticed just how many people have clustered around behind Miller, staring wide-eyed when his glare met each of them in turn. 

He was out of his chair and leaning from the door frame in a few quick strides to growl at them, "What the hell are you all looking at? Is this a party? You have jobs to do! I want names of known arson offenders on my desk _now._ " 

They scattered like scared mice, sliding back to their desks or running into each other in their haste to look innocent. What was the matter with these people and their fascination for idle gossip? 

Miller was the only one unaffected; still perched on her desk, coffee in hand that she was sipping with far too much delight. Her eyes twinkled above the rim of her cup and even if she weren't being so _terribly_ obvious about it, Hardy could spot a guilty party from a mile away. 

"Was that amusing enough for you?" He snarled.

She raised her cup at him in salute, snickering."You should have seen yourself. Downright _energized_. I don't think I've seen you like that since–" 

"Miller," Hardy interrupted, purposefully airy, "Don't you have a debrief to be heading?" 

She scowled, looking down at her watch, "You’re daft, it’s barely ten past. I don't have anything until– _oh shit!_ " She hissed through her teeth and, likely, scalding coffee, whirling around to start stacking papers together on her desk. 

Hardy wandered back to his chair leisurely, enjoying Miller’s rushing about as she ran out of the office in a flurry of cursing; up to the third floor where she’d likely be finding little more than a dark, empty room. 

Far be it for him to remind her the meeting wasn’t until _tomorrow_ afternoon, but it would give him some semblance of peace while he tried to shake away the strange spark under his skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever meet those people who you argue with because somewhere along the line it becomes fun? That was these two. Good lord.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wouldn’t consider it a victory. It only took the ruination of my entire life for me to figure that out."
> 
> "Don't misunderstand. I'm not complimenting you. Sounds to me like it's all too little too late."

_It's kind of liberatin'  
That you know just what I'm sayin'  
And if the truth is whatever we make it  
We walk the same line _

_Just for Now — Maren Morris_

He couldn't be sure, but there appeared to be a woman staring at him from behind the breakfast cereal. 

What Bill was _doing_ in that aisle was beside the point. It didn't matter so much that he'd never in his adult life let a spoonful of the sugary monstrosities pass his lips, or that it seemed that he may now (in an act of desperation) be weighing the merits of disregarding that decision altogether.

His potential stalker peered through the gaps in the shelves at him with enough intensity that Bill was beginning to regret leaving the cottage today at all. Her eyes were wizened, a pale blue framed by puff clouds of silver hair. Not at all alarming except for the fact that her mouth was moving without the pretense of making noise as she tracked him like a prey animal.

He _really_ wanted to believe she was only reading the boxes to herself. 

Deciding the cereal was a quandary for another day, Bill moved out of the aisle and towards the produce. He picked up an orange, pretending to study it's ripeness while ignoring the prickling on the back of his neck that told him he was being watched. If Betty were here, she'd be cackling at the sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

It was an odd time to find that he missed her. 

His shadow continued with him throughout the store: The shuffling of soft-soled slippers near the bakery. Quiet coughs announcing her presence again near the canned food. The temptation to whirl around and ask her _exactly_ what the hell she could possibly want from him was extremely tempting, but not nearly as much as his desire to blend _in._

Not to mention, yelling at an elderly woman at all would in all probability brand him a pariah. Since that appeared to be a common enough feeling right now, Bill grit his teeth and endured. 

She caught him, once, by the dairy. A gnarled finger lifting to point at his chest. He'd have been able to handle a scolding. Or an accusation, even, of some perceived rudeness. But she'd simply stood there and _smiled._

Bill was honestly contemplating leaving his shopping there altogether when he heard a bright, familiar voice cut in from behind him. 

" _Hello_ Mrs. Porter," came the sparkling visage of Ellie Miller. She rounded the corner, miraculously breaking the woman's million-yard stare. Her thin lips spread into a smile in return. 

"Good mornin’ to ya, Ellie dear," said the perfectly normal sounding fiend. "Beautiful day isn't it?

"Oh yes." Ellie's smile was far too bright "And you! Out for a stroll today I see. How are you faring? My goodness, that seems a bit to carry. Would you like some help?" Her arm slid gently around the woman's back, turning her away from Bill as she spoke. She cast a look over her shoulder at him and Bill could only gape back. 

"Now what could you have _possibly_ done to get the old bat after you?" 

There was little explanation for the way his shoulders sagged and his breath released in a rush, but he felt far calmer when he turned to face the questioning gaze of Alec Hardy. 

"I couldn't tell you," Bill replied. "Though, for a moment I was honestly questioning if I was going to find her standing outside my window tonight." 

That drew a contemplative noise from Hardy, his expression remaining neutral except for the amused creasing around his eyes. "Well, if our resident American turns up missing I'll be sure to question our geriatric citizens first." 

"Joke all you like. But if she manages to kill me, remember you were warned." 

"Oh, aye." Hardy responded blandly, "Gummed to death in your sleep. A tragedy." 

He'd never be able to explain what it was that caught him, but the laugh that burst out of Bill startled them both. Bill's fingers finally uncurled from their death grip on his shopping cart. Hardy leaned back slightly, his hands in his pockets, and tried not to look satisfied that he got such a different reaction from the man.

"You'll have to thank her for me," Bill said after he collected himself. "DS Miller." 

Hardy tsked at him, "If I tell her you've said that after she asked you to call her "Ellie", your new friend will be the last of your problems." 

"Ah, well. I’ll be sure not to make that same mistake within earshot then." Bill vowed in return.

Hardy's lips twitched upwards. Without the squinting shadows of his eyes, it softened his face, revealing boyish qualities that hadn’t quite faded with age. A smattering of freckles across his nose was visible now that he wasn’t snarling at something and for a moment it seemed as though Bill was looking at a whole new person. 

He didn't stop to think about why he was looking at all. 

A chirping from Hardy’s pocket rang and they both blinked and turned away. Bill scanned the store, politely looking around as he dug his phone out and grumbled at whatever the text message said. 

“Speak of the devil,” Hardy nodded vaguely in the direction they’d seen Ellie go. “Seems Millar shook off your would-be stalker and she’s _finally_ ready to get back to work.” He hesitated before stepping back just a bit, swaying on his heel as his expression tightened into familiar territory. “I’d finish what you were doing in case Mrs. Porter decides she’s not quite had enough of you." 

"That's completely terrifying. Thank you." 

"You learn quickly with these people that avoidance is your best bet. Otherwise, you'll find three hours will’ve passed and you are burdened with the names of all twenty-seven of someone’s grandchildren and it's half past noon.”

Bill couldn’t even fathom the sheer amount of patience that would take from a person to withstand. “Personal experience?”

“God no,” Hardy managed to grimace with his entire body. “I’m not near approachable enough for that, thankfully. But I’ve seen more than one poor sod caught on the side of the street that way. Wouldn’t press my luck.” He reached up to tug at his ear, that awkwardness settling over them again. Bill took small comfort in realizing they were apparently both terrible at this. “I...should probably be off, though.” 

“Right,” Bill nodded, heat creeping up his neck unbidden. What the hell were they doing here, anyway? Hardy was an _ass_. It didn't matter if he left. In fact, Bill preferred it if he did. The entire point of being here was to be left alone long enough to clear his head.

Determined to muddle through what was sure enough failed social skills on both of their parts, they managed to exchange quick goodbyes. Hardy jerked his head in some mockery of a nod when Bill told him to take care, and then he was off in a staggering gait of long limbs and dark clothing. 

But Bill found himself watching the other man’s retreat anyway. Hardy really was such a strange man to watch in motion. His footsteps almost dragged into the ground like he was trying to make sure the earth could still feel him there. A puzzle of stiff shoulders and long limbs that tried too hard to contain themselves within the space allowed.

“—Sir?” 

Bill would never admit to jumping at the question. “I'm sorry?” He asked, turning to face the woman at the checkout. She smiled patiently, eyes wandering over him in curious swipes. 

“I asked if you were ready?” 

A crash distracted him before he could answer, drawing his gaze to where Hardy was now apologizing gruffly to a woman pushing a cart while rubbing at his narrow hip. He must have snapped something at Ellie, who was grinning like she'd been blessed with a particularly thoughtful gift as Hardy sped past her and she followed him out.

Bill pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. "Yes. I believe so.”

* * *

  
  


“ _So_ ,” Betty smacked whatever she was eating in his ear loud enough for him to grimace. “ _How’s the small-town life goin’ for ya_?”

Bill held the phone away from his ear long enough for the sounds to cease and then returned it. The last thing he’d expected to be doing this afternoon was talking to Betty, but he’d been in Broadchurch a little over a week and he probably should have expected her to get sick of waiting on him. It was still a surprise to see her name light up on his mobile.

Now Bill was sitting on the tiny back patio, watching the last of the fishing boats pull into the harbor while the fingers of his free hand tapped away on the book lying forgotten beside him. “It’s going as well as expected.” 

He could picture very clearly the way she tossed her hair to the side as she snorted. “ _Bill._ ”

“Don’t start.” 

“ _William_ ,” Betty laughed at him. And—no, _that_ was not acceptable. “ _I can figure out how to make this worse_.”

“ _Alright_ ,” he sighed, slouching back into his chair because no one was there to see him do it. “So far I’ve been harassed by the press, embarrassed myself by arguing with the local police, and I was followed around the supermarket today by a woman whose intentions were never revealed to me. How was the move?” 

_“I’m—You—_ **No** , you don’t get to just rush past all of that. What happened?!”

It was a rare occasion that they talked like this. That Bill could even muster up the ability to care about anyone else’s day to day situations, but as he let her prattle on about the little house she and Helen were still settling in to and the resulting fight over drapery, he let the familiarity of her voice steady him. Let himself admit that he missed her. Even if her entire life mission appeared to be making things difficult for him, she was really the only person he could outright call a friend. 

A soft thumping noise from the front door had him up and heading that way as she cackled at him, her voice coming in muffled as she attempted to smother away the sheer volume of it in her hands. “ _Now tell me more about this altercation with the coppers,”_ Betty said. “ _Are we leaning all the way into a life of crime? Should I be stashing money in the convenient drop off areas? Put Helen in a safe house and meet you in France?_ ”

“Don’t be absurd,” Bill opened the door wide enough to snatch up the paper that had been left on his porch. “Though now I’m a bit concerned that you’ve thought that far ahead.”

He looked out to see if he could catch who delivered it. Strange for a paper to be there when he’d never personally requested the service, but maybe the owners kept it up for their rental guests. 

Betty kept on as he cinched the phone between his ear and shoulder and unrolled it enough to scan the first couple of pages. School events. Local business advertisements. Someone apparently caught a new record length carp. But there was an article on the second page, a familiar headline with three familiar faces attached to it: _American Sex Researcher flees to Broadchurch following Prostitution Scandal._

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He snarled at it, throwing the entire thing in the general area of the trash bin. Betty stopped in the middle of her sentence with a questioning noise and he sighed, frustration causing the breath to come harsh. “It appears _Oliver_ got his way after all.” 

“ _That was the reporter from the coffee place right?”_

“Unfortunately.” Bill muttered, “Published an article about me in the local paper. I shouldn't be surprised. I knew that's what he was after.” 

_“Maybe that’s why that lady was following you around.”_ Betty hummed, _“Wanted to get in on the next research trial,”_

“That’s ridic—” he stopped, clenched his jaw, then released it and all the inevitability of the situation with it. The date on the front page indicated that yes, it had gone out this morning and that yes it had been published by that nattering infant. “No, that would actually explain quite a bit.”

She cooed at him, all mocking. _“Did your new-found infamy follow you across the sea? I’m_ ** _so_** _shocked. Look at me—Helen—Do I look shocked?”_ Whatever Helen said indecipherable to his ears. “She said yes.”

“How is it the more trouble I’m in the more of a thrill you get out of it?” There was an air of a chuckle in his question, a joke he wanted to be capable of making without twisting the knife. But there was a pause on the other end of the line that proved he’d failed miserably.

" _Who knows,"_ Betty said, her words moving just shy of sharp at the edges. “ _Could be that I’m usually here wondering why you insist on causing trouble for yourself and leaving everyone around you scrambling to pick up the pieces.”_

Even if Bill didn’t know Betty as he did— if he hadn’t, somewhere along the line, picked up on the way her voice could turn words into barbed wire— he’d know that she was steamrolling right into the unpleasant part of their conversation whether he liked it or not. 

It had been naive of him to think he could talk around it, really.

Sinking back down into his patio chair, he rubbed his hand over his face. “Is it that bad?” 

Betty bristled so sharply he heard it over the phone, “ _If you’re waiting for me to say the place is falling apart without you, you’ve got another thing coming_.”

“Of course,” He said because there was nothing else for it. Bill hadn’t meant to insinuate otherwise. Virginia had always been, even in the midst of everything, devoted to the study _._ To helping people. Even if it pained him to see her walk down those halls, they were every bit as much hers as they were his own. Possibly even more. “That’s not what I meant.”

Betty stopped, blew out a breath to soften the sharpness, but it didn’t leave entirely.

“ _Virginia is runnin’ the place just fine. Not to mention she can actually talk to the patients without having taking off mid-way through the exam.”_

Bill winced. The last couple of months at the clinic had been a fresh kind of torture after Virginia’s long-awaited return. Everything about the building felt like it had been closing in on him. He’d almost memorized the sound of her footsteps in the halls so that he’d have a better chance of avoiding them.

It had developed into some sort of tension that he couldn’t let go of, lingering long after he’d left the building each night and returning before he even walked through the door the next morning. Eventually becoming so intense that he’d begun planning a trip without realizing he’d been doing it just purely out of the longing to get _out of there._

_“The clinic is going as it always has.”_ Betty continued. _“Everyone is taken care of, her new assistant is doing well. But you left unfinished business here doc, and anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell something is wrong. People notice._ ”

“I know.” He pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes. His heartbeat throbbed against the tips. She didn’t need to tell him it had been cowardly, but she certainly had every _right._ And as much as he didn’t want to do this right now, or _ever_ , Bill was just going to have to sit back and let her say what she needed to. “I’m sorry. That wasn't my intention at all.”

“ _It was a shit thing to do.”_ She kept on _. “No warning. No goodbye. Just some fucking piece of paper you couldn’t even hand to me yourself. A set of ‘instructions’ like you were taking a day off instead of sneaking off to another_ ** _country._ ** _You didn’t even pick up the phone until you were at the airport!”_

“Betty—” 

She cut him off. “ _Are you coming back_?”

“Well. I—” Bill stopped because the words burned. The thought of going back to that place. To those _people_ , to all the ways his world had turned grey by his own hand. How it stretched out in front of him like a lifeless blur. It terrified him. “I have to. I know that.” 

“ _But do you want to?”_

He didn’t even know where to begin with that question.

There was another pause, a sharing of breaths over the receiver and Betty said something under her breath that sounded like a curse before: “ _Look. What you decide to do with yourself probably isn’t my business but I think you should at least figure out what you want. And I don’t think you’re going to be able to do that without some sort of, I don’t know— closure.”_

“Betty, if I'd made any sort of permanent decision I'd let you know. I’m not—” 

_Cruel_ , he wanted to say but it wouldn’t leave his tongue. He wanted to say that he wasn’t the type of person who would leave people wondering what the hell happened to him without a word of warning.

Except he’d done just that, hadn’t he? 

Bill didn’t have to puzzle over what Betty meant. They both were well aware of exactly what 'closure' entailed. Agonizing, uncomfortable conversations with Virginia. Wading through lawyers and custody battles with Libby. 

And the horrible, gnawing knowledge that he still needed to apologize to them both. 

* * *

Hardy had spent a long time bitterly fighting against the prospect of surgery. Not out of fear of dying. Dying he could handle. But there had been ghosts lingering along the edge of his vision; spectors of children he’d failed and one he couldn’t allow himself to. Anything that jeopardized Hardy finding out what happened to them just simply hadn’t been an option, even if it killed him in the end.

He wasn’t as sure, looking back, what his entire thought process had been. The tunnel-vision induced haze that he’d lived through was fading now with the closing of the case, and he’d been left with a void and a new bit of machinery.

The procedure had done nothing but exactly what the doctors had told him it would and while that rankled him to no end, he couldn’t deny that as the months kept passing he felt like he was slowly remembering who he had been before all of this started. 

There were still pills to take and enough trips to the doctor to be irritating, but they were to the point now where it was just check-ups and reminders to eat well and _exercise_ like he didn’t spend the majority of his time running after someone as it was. 

But Miller could nag better than any trained physician Hardy had had the displeasure of meeting, so once in a while, he’d find himself walking along the cliff paths and listening to the waves just to be able to say he did so. He’d attempted the beach once or twice but he couldn’t abide all the bloody _sand._

He kept his car far enough away from the cafe that he had to walk to get back to it. He still didn't have a taste for coffee, but they could make a decent cup of tea, and distracting Miller with caffeine usually bought him a few moments of peace in the morning. 

The grass rustled as Hardy trudged up the path. He'd get about halfway before he'd stop, not because he couldn't make the walk, but that he begrudgingly had to admit that the sky did something spectacular if he managed to catch it at the right time. 

He remembered very clearly saying that he hated the never-ending sky. Could understand the irony of it becoming something he stopped to see on purpose now. But he’d never meant for Broadchurch to become home, either. Sometimes things became a part of you before you had any say in the matter.

Hardy couldn't help but wonder if others had ended up swept up in it. How many people had meant to pass through only to find themselves rooted in this tiny town with its gossipy residents and its warmth and it’s quiet.

His heart was still steady and his breathing returned to normal as he crested the hill, but Hardy still willed away the phantom pangs that would usually have hit him by now. But the morning was crisp, the sun was just finishing its ascent over the sea – and there was someone sitting in his place. 

Hardy stopped in his tracks for a moment, disbelief coloring the huff of air that escaped him as the person came clearer into view. You'd never find anyone less inclined than Alec Hardy to believe in fate, but the fact that he kept running into this man should have been setting his suspicions off-kilter. The town may be small, but three times in a little over a week was a bit much to be seeing a stranger. Especially in areas, Hardy himself frequented. 

Bill Masters sat with his legs crossed like a child, frowning mightily over a newspaper and completely ignoring the world around him. If Hardy had to take an educated guess, it was likely Olly's article that was causing the creases between the man's brows to deepen. He’d seen it himself, scanned through the whole dramatically framed affair that was apparently the doctor’s life up ‘til now. 

He should leave, Hardy thought. There was no use making conversation with a man like that when he didn't have to. Alec had been on the tail end of a lying, cheating spouse and knew with agonizing clarity all the ways it broke you. The way the press framed Bill's story was of a man caught in the midst of abusing his power. Just another sick, rich bastard that didn't deserve a second thought. 

But he'd also been on the end of press that liked to twist at the heart of you. That took conjecture and presented it as fact. That ruined lives with _guesses_ and _rumors_ that held no merit. 

Alec could not always boast at being the best judge of character, but he knew the look of a shattered man when he saw one. 

Bill didn't look at him as he approached, lost in thought as he appeared to be. His hair was blowing back from his face by the breeze, his lips pressed together so tightly they nearly disappeared. 

"This is starting to get weird, doctor,” Hardy stood next to him, likely a blur in the corner of his eye, but still Bill didn't turn to look at him. “I might have to ask if you’re following me.” 

It was a testament, maybe, to the growing frequency of their meetings that the man didn't show an ounce of surprise that he was there.

“No,” he said, a sigh escaping him just under his breath. “Though I can see why you’d ask.” 

Well, that was certainly the tone of a man wrapped up in his own self-pity. Hardy shifted, balancing the drinks he was carrying, and tilted his head at the way Bill still wouldn’t look up. “See you’ve gotten ahold of Olly’s latest. Turns out you’re a right bastard after all, aren’t you?”

Was it unfair to press? Probably. But Hardy couldn’t deny he was curious. Bill didn’t carry himself like the usual smarmy womanizer types, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of terrible things. His reactions would be infinitely more telling than a smear of words on paper.

Bill’s eyebrows rose slightly, lips pursing and releasing before he spoke, "I was cruel to my wife and unforgivable to my mistress." His voice grew quiet. "My eldest children probably hate me and the youngest only knows me only by my first name. _Bastard_ is probably too kind." 

Bill's eyes flit up to meet his finally, a glance and then gone like he suspected Hardy was going to take off at any moment. That he probably wouldn't blame him for doing so. 

_And_ _he_ _should be leaving_. 

It was a small wonder Hardy's body didn't creak like old wood when he settled himself down in the grass next to Bill. He set the cups down beside him, leaving enough space between the two of them to not feel intrusive. 

Bill looked up again, this time in surprise to find Hardy looking out at the ocean, mouth grim. 

"You'd probably be right," Hardy said. "Good to hear that you're aware, at least, of the damage you've caused. A lot of people in your shoes wouldn't bother acknowledging it at all." 

Bill scoffed, "I wouldn’t consider it a victory. It only took the ruination of my entire life for me to figure that out." 

Hardy's shoulders lifted, "Don't misunderstand. I'm not complimenting you. Sounds to me like it's all too little too late. " 

This was usually the part of Hardy's conversations where people got defensive. Started yelling, or blabbering, or, god forbid, _crying_ , but instead Bill inclined his head in agreement. He didn't appear to be looking for sympathy and it suited Hardy well that he wasn't set to give him any. 

"It is," Bill said. "I know I am responsible for all of this. That I need to make amends to the people I've hurt." His fingers scratched along the corner of the newspaper in his hands. "Ironically, _this_ isn't even the truth of the matter. Well, it is true, but not in the sense it was told." 

"So you _didn't_ pay a woman to have sex?" 

"Not with _me,_ " Bill said, "it was for the research." 

"Oh, yes. I'm sure all doctors tried for prostitution say that." 

Bill's chest rose and fell quickly, a stifled sound didn't quite pass his lips parting as he shook his head at Hardy. "You aren't versed in filtering yourself are you?" 

"Eh," he shook his head, “S’not really my style, no.” 

A wry grin tilted Bill's lips, but it wasn't amusement that colored the curve. "It's refreshing, actually. All day yesterday people were just _smiling_ at me. You know, the kind you give to someone you're going to destroy in conversation later. I didn’t used to think so, but it’s better to just hear people say what they’re thinking instead of barely waiting for you to leave the room." 

Hardy looked over long enough to cast an exasperated look at him. He expected to be repelled when their eyes met. Instead, Hardy tilted his head a bit to level their gaze and ask, "So, what are you going to do to be better?" 

Bill's eyes took on the hue of whatever they were surrounded by; right now they were amber and gold and wide like no one had ever told him that he could _be different_ if he wanted.

"I–" the words caught, pinched tight and sharp in his throat. "I'm not sure." 

"I'd be trying a bit harder than that if I were you," Hardy's hands hung between his legs when he looked back out towards the sea again. "it's not enough to slink off into the night where no one can see you change. But if you care about any of the people you’ve wronged, you’ll figure it out." 

He caught the way Bill’s lips parted from the corner of his eye, the way he drew himself up for a moment and deflated, his expression shifting through a variety of emotions before settling on contemplative. 

They said nothing for a while, just shared in this tiny pocket of open-air, and watched the light glisten above the water. It was almost peaceful there in the quiet with another body that didn’t require constant nattering to be comfortable. 

In the end, it was Bill who broke the silence, “Thank you,” he said simply. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Hardy shifted, scowling.

“No,” Bill replied, “But I appreciate your candor.” 

“Is that all it takes to impress you? I’m surprised. You’d think a _sex doctor_ would play a bit harder to get.” 

Bill chuckled, “Would you believe me if I told you that most people find me ‘weird’?” 

“Yes. Absolutely. Without a doubt.” Hardy's small grin was a roguish thing when Bill glared at him. His nose wrinkled a little when he did it. “I’m no better in that department if we're being fair. Not really looking to change that at the moment though anyway.” 

Bill leaned back on his hands, stretching out a little. “Well, there is one thing I’m concerned about.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Was Mrs. Porter trying to solicit me for sexual services or sexual advice?” 

Hardy did not know this man. He did not even particularly wish to, as he didn’t particularly wish to know anyone. Miller had forced her way into his space because that’s what she was good at, but he didn’t go around making room for others to do that at any given time. 

It was simply disgust at the mental images the man’s question brought forth that had him pressing the palm of his hand into Bill’s shoulder and pushing until he heard an undignified squawking noise. The incredulous expression that met him when Bill realized he’d near been rolled onto the ground was worth the minor lapse in judgment. 

“If you ever say that to me again, I will let her have you,” he said, but it sounded odd to his ears. That implied, more than anything, that another opportunity would present itself. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that idea. Or even what Bill would think of it himself if he’d bothered to ask. 

“I'm surprised." He mocked. "You'd think a Detective would be harder to rankle.” Bill raised his eyebrow at him, an answer to that unasked question.

Hardy frowned back and was met with smug silence, unable to help the feeling that something had shifted despite himself. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're idiots, your honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy friends.  
> so I probably should have warned you all that summer makes me virtually useless. my bad. here's this madness. enjoy!

_I don't know why but my hands are shaking_   
_I can see you coming and I stand here waiting_   
_Yeah I get tongue tied in the conversation_   
_It's an F'd up, bad, sick situation_

_I tried to tie my heart down, board up all the windows_   
_Oh but it's too late now_   
_I let you get too close_

Bea Miller — Force of Nature

The next time they met was on the street; like the strangers they should have been but weren’t really managing to stay. 

Alec had been itching to stretch his legs after a long, _long_ stint in the car with Miller chasing down potential leads. Figured he may as well make the physician appointment he kept rescheduling. Only because it _happened_ to be on the way– not because Daisy had found his reminder card and had been after him about it since. 

He squinted when he stepped out into the sun, rubbing away the spots that started to dance around his eyes. They kept it so dark in the clinic but he never really noticed it until his retinas tried to burn up. He made it as far as his car door before his instincts had him looking up as someone passed. 

“No—I’m not _demanding_ anything, Betty. I just think that it would be prudent, in light of the circumstances, if we could — I don’t _know_ I’m just trying to— Would you— see if she would be amenable. _Please.”_

The man stopped, tilting his head to the sky with his eyes closed, his bottom lip rolled behind his teeth and back. Alec wasn’t sure why he was still standing there when the man turned around. 

And because life was one big, cosmic bloody joke, that had him locking eyes with the dark circled-eyed gaze of one Bill Masters. 

“I—Yes—Wait, what?” Bill stuttered into the phone, his eyes never quite leaving Alec’s face. Whoever he was talking to was speaking loud enough Alec could hear snippets of a woman’s aggravated pitch, her words coming rapid fire and hard enough that Bill looked like every word was punctuated with a slap. “I know it’s not ideal.” He softened enough to sigh, his shoulders slumping in relief. “I’d be grateful. Thank you.” 

Alec couldn’t place why he was still standing there, but he had turned away politely to let the man finish his phone call in peace. Knowing that at the very least they’d now been pulled into the murky waters of passing politeness. He leaned his elbow against the top of his car, huffing out a laugh as the quiet exasperation on Bill’s face morphed into acceptance. 

“I’m not following you.” Bill said in lieu of greeting. “But I imagine this isn’t looking good.”

Alec snorted, flinging his hand up dismissively. Running into people here couldn't be helped even when you wanted it, he knew well enough.Tiny town. Close proximity. Fate laughing at them from her gossamer cloud. There was nothing about Broadchurch that wasn’t intertwined in everyone else. 

“Most stalkers wouldn’t make themselves this obvious. But if you’re trying to hide in plain sight, well done you.” Hardy said, amused at the slow blinking stare he received for his efforts. “Tough go of it?”

“You could say.” Bill said, nodding at the phone. “That was my receptionist.” 

Alec’s eyebrow arced. 

“She didn’t sound too thrilled with you.” 

Bill’s laugh was more a bark, “That’s putting it mildly. I needed to ask her for a favor and that never usually ends well for me. But,” he paused, worried his lip, “I trust her.”

And it wasn’t a demand for attention when he said it, no, just a lonely honesty that he probably hadn’t meant to show in the first place.

It was interesting enough. Looking at Bill was a lesson in body language all on its own. The man was a perpetual frown wrapped up in soft clothes that he didn’t seem to know if he liked yet. His shoulders were a straight line under the deep moss of his cardigan, the type of proper that belied someone who did not make a habit of walking with his nose to the ground. Yet he pulled at the sleeves, pushing them up around his elbows with something that looked like nerves. 

Alec was used to making people nervous. This didn’t feel quite the same. 

“At any rate,” Bill spoke up again, “I suppose I should be glad the local police don’t suspect me of stalking.” There was a smile there, a tiny, hopeful thing that desperately asked for a subject change. “Are you—heading back to the office?” 

Hardy’s arm twitched, moving the door in tiny motions side to side, his body obviously going through the process of making a decision without him. He had originally _planned_ to go back to work, because that was _always_ his plan. If Daisy wasn’t home and didn’t require him, work was the best use of his time.

“No,” he said without meaning to. The car door closing sounded like finality all the same. “Just running errands like a normal person.”

Bill’s gaze flitted to the building behind him, turning curious, then clinical as they came to rest on Hardy again. His eyebrows furrowed as they swept in long lines over Hardy from legs to chest to face. “Is there something wrong?” He asked, stepping forward as if there was anything he could do about himself. He paused then, considering, "I’m sorry. I don't mean to pry." But a gnat could tell he was terribly curious.

Alec snorted. _Doctors. Honestly._

“I was.” he said, tapping on his breast with a shrug. “Pacemaker. Few years back. They make me come in periodically.” He scoffed. “Waste of time, I think. I put it off as much as I can, really.” 

This was usually the part where the conversation drifted into nothing. Pleasantries had been exchanged. Health had been asked after. Not to mention it seemed that talking to a man who'd at one point had one foot in the grave made people tetchy. 

Bill shot Alec a sharp look instead, “It is _not_ a waste of time.” he said firmly. “Hearts are precarious things as it is and it's absolutely essential that your physician regularly check in on–" 

Bill was puffed up like a wiry cat, the exhaustion falling away and turning stern like he had any say in the matter. He wouldn't expect that he _cared_ in the truest sense – but maybe it was the nature of the profession, even for someone like Bill. Alec could have laughed, and it _truly_ annoyed him.

“Oh, don't you start. I've heard it all before and I have enough people fretting over me about it.” He grumbled. “I’m here, aren’t I? I went.” 

"Right." Bill nodded tightly. "Yes. Of course." He lifted his hands again before letting them drop in an aborted movement Hardy couldn't place, looking around so he wouldn't have to meet Alec's eyes. “It’s not my business.”

Bill didn't shrink away, but he retreated, stepping back into a cool detachment that was broken only by the twist of dissatisfaction on his mouth. There weren't many people who walked around Broadchurch scowling quite as much as Hardy did. He sincerely hoped he didn't look half as petulant. 

"Have you eaten yet?" Hardy asked before he could strangle himself for the thought. 

"What?" Bill's gaze shot back to him so fast Hardy was surprised nothing snapped.

His skin itched and burned around the collar and Alec refused to touch it on principle. A noise escaped him, a growling hiss to hide his turmoil of his own brain asking what the _hell_ he thought he was doing. "It's a simple question. Have you been ‘round for lunch yet?" 

“I don’t understand. Are you asking me to lunch or asking if I’ve eaten?” his nose wrinkled. "And _why?"_

Oh, right, _that_ was why Alec didn't bother with people. “If you’re going to be difficult about it just forget I asked.” 

"I'm not _difficult."_

“Yes or _no_ , Masters.”

And that was how they found themselves walking side by side without anyone actually confirming the plan out loud, continuing their newfound habit of bickering themselves into a conversation they never planned to enter into. 

The restaurant Hardy had in mind was a small bistro that would have Miller absolutely slaughtering him if he left without something for her. He'd gone in twice to question employees, denying her food both times before she'd near bodily dragged him to the counter and hissed at him to let her get them lunch _or else._

Decent enough place to work out why he was currently enjoying being the nuisance for once.

"So what is it you actually _do?"_ Alec asked, hands in the pockets of his slacks as they walked. It was strange to simply be wandering after taking time off. Well, as far as working from home meant _off_. He'd never really mastered leisure for leisure's sake. 

Bill's lips pursed, "You know what I do. In fact, you seem to enjoy reminding me as often as possible." 

"Ach, well," Alec shrugged, " _Sure_. But what is it a sex researcher actually does in his day to day?" 

"Obstetrics and gynecology. The research is a separate but... aligned venture." he shot Hardy a look from the corner of his eye. "Please refrain." 

"I didn't say anything." 

"A miracle in itself, truly." 

“You have a strange habit of not answering questions.” 

Bill straightened his back, keeping his eyes forward as he steeled himself. "The idea was to gather a better understanding of human sexuality in order to best treat sexual dysfunction and provide a healthier experience for all involved." 

“And you carrying on with your assistant was essential to the research, I take it?” Hardy smirked at Bill’s withering glare. 

“I don’t recall going into detail with you.” Bill said. Alec jerked a shoulder at him. 

“If you didn’t think I was going to check up on you, you’re out of your mind.” 

Bill looked like he was gearing up for an argument and Hardy braced himself for it, all but disappointed when Bill looked away with a frown instead. “I suppose that’s fair.” 

Alec eyed that frown, that tightness that he both recognized and didn’t understand. Just when he pegged the man as easy to rile, he’d turn around and exude an icy control that he could almost feel like a prickle across his skin. 

Hardy reached for the door before Bill could. “So, how many people did you watch having a go at each other before you decided to show them how it was done?”

The sound of a man choking on his own spit was somehow oddly satisfying. 

" _Alec_." Bill hissed, looking around to the people who passed them by. The only ones who were paying them any mind at the moment were the elderly couple leaving the bistro. Though they didn't appear near as scandalized as Bill himself. "Is that necessary?" 

It was a well known fact that Hardy _really_ didn't like people using his name. He hadn't lied when he told Miller years back that he thought it was pointless to bother with given names and the false camaraderie that came with it. Though she got away with it now, here and there, because despite everything she had insinuated herself as a fixture in his life. 

But Alec didn't find himself rushing to correct him when he was too busy chuckling at the scowl on his reddened face."How in the world have you managed to be a such prude in your line of work?" 

Bill sniffed. "I just feel there is a time and a place for things. From my experience people don’t tend to find talk of sex in a public place very...palatable." 

“Well,” Hardy smirked back at him as he pulled the door open. “People also say you can get a man to tell you anything over a decent meal.”

* * *

Bill spent more time walking along the shore in Broadchurch than he could remember doing in his entire life, and he’d never thought much of the sea. 

It was a common fantasy in a land-locked state to pine away for the scent of salt and hot sand. He'd never bothered much with pining for anything. Why would he, when he could calculate and pursue until he'd gotten everything he'd wanted?

It was only as it all slipped from his fingers that he understood anything about _longing._

There were times it was almost unbearable to sit still. Sitting meant _thinking_ and that – that kept leading to a confrontation with something he wasn't quite ready for. The nights were the worst; a constant reel of pictures in his head. Puzzle pieces slotting into place that showed the depths of his own depravity until his body would near propel itself up without conscious thought. 

Walking gave him something to do. A sliver of control, maybe, but a sliver was better than none. Usually, that feeling could be assuaged by his work. Putting process to paper, hands to his keyboard or notebook. The testing of a new hypothesis, the reworking of the experiment if it failed. There had rarely been room for anything in his life that didn’t accompany his research. 

Even his relationship with Virginia had been based, at least in part, around their shared vision. 

Broadchurch was a grassy maze of trails that led next to the ocean or over cliffs, and so, when the quiet became too unbearable Bill took those paths in the early morning while the town still slept. When it awoke, bright and slow, but moving, he’d make his daily rounds among the stares and whispers just to keep his muddled thoughts from solidifying themselves too much. 

He’d expected to become a full pariah when his story broke. Small towns were funny that way. Instead, it seemed people were even more curious. It was just that now they had no qualms about waiting until he’d left the room before they started in on their whispering. 

It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable. As long as they didn’t start asking him directly. He never quite knew what to say to people outside of a medical facility anyway. They could keep their rumors if it made them happy. Bill supposed someone should get a laugh out of it. 

His thumb brushed along the edge of his phone in his pocket as he resisted the urge to pull it out for the umpteenth time as he wandered up the drive to his cottage. There were so many conversations he needed to have, but even the idea of the simple ones drove him to avoidance.

But the fact was that he had a list of people to call, and not a single idea about how to start any of them. 

So in true procrastinating fashion, he went for the new addition burning a hole through his screen:

**_I tipped my waitress this afternoon. She was not impressed._ **

He hit send with absolutely zero expectations, (and a suitable amount of nausea) resolving to forget about it immediately. Their lunch yesterday had been almost friendly, if not completely mortifying at times. Bill hadn't been sure if it was just Alec being good at his job, but all it had taken was the consistent, irritating prodding and found Bill loosening up enough to engage the other man without reserve. It was so rare for Bill to feel like he didn't have to be _careful_ around someone else. That he could be as sardonic and honest as he wanted and the other party didn't even bat an eye in retaliation. There was a glimmer of something like pride every time Bill managed to make Alec's eyes light up like he'd said something particularly clever.

It had been absurd that the man had given him his number in the first place. Perhaps it had been the lowness of Bill’s spirit, or the way the light had cast Hardy’s hair red and chestnut at once that spurred his lack of judgement, but he’d walked away from the experience fully expecting to never hear from the man again. Surely they couldn't continue running into each other so often. 

Surely Bill didn't _want_ to.

He had his key in the door when his phone chimed, and he moved to take it out just as he walked through. 

_Isn’t the real concern here that American waitresses need tips in the first place?_

Bill almost dropped his keys and wallet on the floor instead of the little table near the entryway, staring as he was at the little black and white text. He could not remember the last time he'd initiated a conversation by text message, let alone one that garnered a response worth answering. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it now that he'd gotten this far. He wasn't even sure why he wanted to _do anything._

Chewing on the corner of his mouth, Bill let the thought stew as he changed out of his day clothes and into something more suitable for lounging around the house at night. When he made his way back into the kitchen, it was with a calmer mind that allowed for a reply. 

**_Maybe. Though I can’t say I’ve ever been pitied when offering someone money._ **

The quip came so quickly, he could almost hear the rough drag of Alec’s voice as he read:

_Could be they just don't do it in front of you._

Bill but at his lip, an irritating habit he'd been indulging in far more than he'd ever done in recent memory. **_It's Bill, by the way. I probably should have said that first._ **

_I had a feeling._ Alec replied, sarcasm bleeding through the words so intensely Bill found his lips fighting to tilt upwards. A second message followed right after: _And for the record, I think we all know what kind of things you’re usually offering money for._

Bill snorted. There always seemed to be a readied stab where Alec was concerned. It made him want to be quicker in his own respect.It had been simple before, with the authority to have the last word, to get used to people leaving it at that. He didn't like being dismissed, and he certainly didn't like being talked back to. (Which is why Betty did it as often and as loudly as humanly possible, he suspected) 

But it _was_ expected with Hardy. Comforting somehow, even when at his own expense. He'd built a world around himself where people spoke only in threats and half-truths and this man could not have been further removed from it if he'd tried. 

**_I assume that I won't be able to convince you to let that go._ **

_Not on your life, doctor._

His next response wasn't met, leaving Bill settling in to eat what had ended up being a humble meal of soup and a sandwich; a glaring reminder why he desperately needed to re-learn how to cook for himself. There were so many things he'd taken for granted with Libby. 

The lingering threat of boredom was dispersed only slightly as he scrolled through reports Betty had finally agreed to send to him. She’d fought back at the very idea of him doing any sort of work from Broadchurch, citing that if he’d needed to get out so badly that he may as well _actually_ take his vacation for what it was. But Virginia had catalogued an interesting factor in the difference between prime and senior sexual responses that he would eventually need to look into with more depth, and even though the thought of her name brought a hot slide of shame down his spine, the work kept him sane.

He shook his head, trying to clear away the visage of Virginia's face. There was generally a disparity in the age groups, as most considered over the age of 75 to be unable to perform or were uninterested in sex. He wondered if there could be a way to measure–

Bill pushed the tablet aside, frowning down into his murky bowl of canned soup. It didn't really matter what he thought of the research right now, did it? 

Enthusiasm effectively curbed by his own hand, he finished his dinner in silence. He stood to rinse the dishes in the sink, allowing that he would deal with them later. A light flicked on from somewhere out the kitchen window and Bill looked up. 

Across the way there was another window, into another kitchen. Bill couldn't recall ever noticing before now just how close the other house was. 

Mirroring him at the sink was a girl who couldn't be older than fifteen. She was frowning at someone out of view, the expression striking him as oddly familiar before twisting around to wave soapy hands as she talked. The response must not have been to her liking because her eyes rolled as she backed up to accommodate the other speaker into her space. 

Bill's utensils clattered harshly in the sink when Alec (because of _course_ it was him. It was _always_ him these days) stepped into his line of sight. The frown he wore a dead match for the one on the girl. He moved his hands with the cadence of his words, apparently debating her as he deposited the dishes with a strange grace before ducking out of the way. 

The girl's (his daughter, there could really be no doubt) expression shifted, turned to pleading as she reached for a dish towel to dry her hands and though Bill could no longer see Alec's own face, the smile that lit hers up was telling.

Alec came in to view again to pin her with a scowl, but he wrapped his long arms around her for a moment, resting his head in her crown of golden hair and accepting a kiss on the cheek before she was running off. Alec's face slid slowly into a smile. A soft, fond thing that he aimed into the sink as he finished off what she'd left. 

_He_ was soft, there. Suit jacket gone, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows to reveal skinny, freckled wrists. Hardy was a man that Bill recognized. One who carried his work with him long after the night hours had fallen upon them. Even now, his glasses were perched on his nose, his brow furrowed in thought. But the line of his shoulders had settled, the quirk of his mouth had not yet left him and it was something else entirely to see the man at home. Content. 

Bill was smiling himself before he realized that he was still staring like the "creep" Betty had accused him of being so many, many times in those early days. He meant to retreat, knowing he'd watched far longer than was acceptable already when Alec's head jerked up with a sudden intensity that made Bill jump back from the window. 

Their eyes met across the (apparently limited) space between their houses and Alec’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, his face making a series of complicated maneuvers before his jaw went slack. 

Bill's limbs were frozen in place but his neck burned like someone had taken a hot iron to it. He watched people for a living. Doing _far_ worse things, objectively, and without an ounce of shame. Now he stood, his brain screaming at him to move and his body refusing to respond, completely what the appropriate reaction to being caught staring through Alec Hardy's window was. 

He raised his hand in some bastardization of a wave and then immediately smacked it back down on the sink in mute horror when he realized what he'd done. 

_Oh. You are the worst kind of idiot, Bill._

Across the way Alec bristled like a cat, a flush of red bruising it's ways across his cheekbones. His arms twitched violently, the only warning before he pushed himself back from the sink and near _ran_ from the kitchen. 

Bill stood for a few seconds more before turning to walk out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. His door clicked shut firmly as he leaned against the door, and he rubbed at his temples with one hand, fervently trying to wish away his mortification when his phone chimed again.   
  


Heart lurching into his throat, Bill contemplated throwing the thing into the ocean (probably along with himself). He took a few steadying breaths before fishing it out of his pocket and promptly lost them again. It wasn’t Alec who’s name glared at him from the screen. 

**_Libby Masters 8:45 PM_ **

_I need to speak with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill is so embarrassing I actually took a lap around my house in 100 degree weather. Please tell me I am not alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoy.

_They don't cancel other plans  
Have conversations with nothing but their eyes  
They don't hear each other's names and forget to concentrate  
Hits a nerve and lights you up like dynamite _

Friends Don't — Maddie & Tae

"Dad? ... _Dad."_

Hardy startled, his shoulders lifting up to his ears and his fingers sliding from the kitchen blinds like they'd bit him. " _Fu_ —Oh. Hey, darlin’, didn’t see you there. What’re you after?" 

Daisy regarded him with a little furrow above her nose. If there was one thing he was sure his daughter had gotten from him, it was the way she could convey just how thoroughly done she was with the situation with a tick of her dainty eyebrow. 

Better that, he supposed than either of them admitting this was the third time in as many days that she’d caught him doing this very thing. 

_Bloody Bill Masters._

"I'm going round to Chloe's…” Daisy reminded him cautiously, trying to puzzle him out through sheer force of will. She shifted on her feet. “Are you...alright?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, ‘course," he attempted a smile and she wrinkled her nose at him again. Right. It didn't feel convincing when he said it either. "Will you be home tonight?" 

"I think so," she said slowly, still studying his face. “I’ll ring.” 

“Just let me know where you are." He busied himself with a dish towel he had no actual use for at the moment. "I don't want you out on the streets at night. If you need a ride for _anything_ let me know first and I won't ask questions." 

“I _know_ , dad.” Daisy sighed, smirking in that way teenagers did when they'd heard something a half a dozen times. But they both knew well enough why the conversation was as common as it was, so she didn't fight him. "You've her number in your phone, I put it there this morning. But promise me you _won't_ use it unless it's absolutely necessary. _Please "_

"Alright, alright. Go on, then. We don't need to go through this every time." 

Daisy did roll her eyes then, but there was that smile that he loved. Hardy bent down to accept a kiss on the cheek.

"Have fun, Dais." 

"Bye dad," she replied, turning to walk away but then pausing and looking back at him with those big blue eyes that were far older than she was. "Oh, one last thing.” 

“Hm?”

“I just wanted to say...if you’re worried about someone, it’s usually easier if you talk to them about it.” 

Hardy closed his eyes and inhaled. “ _Go on_ , then.” His lip curled and he suppressed a groan at the cheeky flattening of her mouth and widening of her eyes she tilted his way. 

She tittered, “I love you,” and let herself out before he could say it back.

He settled his hands on his hips for a moment, dropping them again just as quickly to reach for his cup. His mobile chirped from its current place on the counter, prompting him to lean over far enough to catch a glimpse of the name. It wasn't a surprise that it was Miller, but he'd been expecting (hoping for? No.) someone else. 

_Someone_ who was either avoiding him or had barely left his cottage in three days. 

Alec downed his tea with the single-minded agency of someone who had better things to do than worry about a man who obviously had no business being worried _about._ It wasn't any of Hardy’s concern what the American did, and it was ridiculous that he had to keep reminding himself. 

He should be heading in to work. Not compulsively opening his inbox to see if his last message had been answered. Not typing and deleting whatever useless drivel he’d come up after the fact. 

What did he think they were doing at any rate? This wasn’t friendship. He didn’t _do_ that. Didn’t do people. The only ones who’d bothered sticking around him were there because they were related to him, or, in Miller’s case, stubborn as old mules. Bill didn’t owe him a response if he wasn’t inclined, and Alec didn’t care regardless. 

His gaze flitted back up to the kitchen window. The embarrassment at being caught unawares the other night still rolled up his spine with such ferocity it made his teeth clench. After three days of barely being able to enter his own kitchen, it had almost come around to being funny. He figured Bill was probably just as shocked as he was.

It had been soul-crushingly mortifying, sure, but not necessarily something that warranted hiding out an entire weekend. At least they knew each other properly at this point. Well, Hardy had thought so. 

Alec scrubbed his face with his hands, determined not to think about it anymore for now.

So he didn’t think about it. Not on the drive into the station, not while he pointedly avoided the few other early-risers that managed to beat him there, not while he poured himself into his latest case file.

What did it matter if the man had decided to spend a few days in? Alec didn’t know enough about him to be making judgments on if that was normal or not. Their odd camaraderie had almost been an act of self-preservation. They just kept running into each other. 

That didn’t mean he had any rights to know why the hell there was still a little checkmark next to Hardy’s message that had still gone unanswered. 

Alec growled under his breath. _He’d said_ he wasn’t going to think about this. 

Of course, in the midst of this was when the main door swung open for the first time that morning. There was a crash and a bang as a bag went flying carelessly into a computer keyboard and Hardy knew that he was moments away from trading one headache for another.

Streaking past the other offices like she'd brought lightning on her heels, he'd barely tipped his head up to look before Miller was strutting into his office like she owned the place (and she certainly thought she did, alleged job-stealing aside) Her eyes were wide, but her mouth was twisted into a fierce scowl and she kicked the door closed behind her and slapped a paper in front of him. 

"Yes, good morning to you too," he said, moving his notes just out of the way of her fervor. 

"We don't say "good morning"," she snapped. 

It was to be this kind of day, apparently. "Oh for– _yes we do–"_

"Have you seen this?" Miller cut him off, pressing the paper near into his chest with her eyebrows cast high on her forehead. 

Her concern was the only thing that made him bother to look down but when he did he was met with the smoothly shaved face of one Bill Masters and a familiar headline that was now almost two weeks old.

Hardy removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes before putting them back on, a sigh rattling his chest. There really was no escaping this man. "I'm aware. But you _do_ realize when this was printed, yes? I’m fairly certain the town’s already moved on to whatever new nonsense has caught their eye.” 

Her eyes narrowed. "Well it’s not like _I’ve_ had time to mess about with the local gossip, but I’d have thought if _someone_ I saw almost every single day of my life would have told me he was cavorting about with a _pervert._ " Miller slumped down into the chair in front of his desk that he had resolved long ago now to think of as hers. "So when did you find out he was a cheating, oversexed louse?" 

"When he told me," Alec said easily. "Though it wasn’t in so many words." It was apparent by the way her lips pursed and her head tilted that that had not been the correct response. Still, he'd have to remember _oversexed louse_ just to see the look on Bill's face if he ever got the opportunity again. “Besides, you’ve sure changed your tune. What happened to 'Oh I'll just have you pop in on the DI, no harm done?'”

"Seems to me you don't mind as much as you keep saying you do." She replied, her voice lilting high like it did when she was about to mother him to death. "When did all this happen? You've seen him since the market, then?"

Hardy's mouth opened and shut again. He hadn't told Miller about the accidental meeting by the beach or the conversation that followed. 

Or lunch. 

Or the fact that Bill was staying next door. 

He didn't quite know what he was hiding from her at this point. But years of instinct told him if she was _this_ irritated it was best to let her know in spurts.

Besides, it had been a few days since he'd seen the man altogether and despite everything, it's not like they'd _planned_ to meet up again. What was there to say when he wasn't even sure himself? 

"I did," he hedged. "After the article posted. Talked a bit about it. He’s an idiot, but he doesn’t seem like he’s here to do any harm. It's old news, Miller and it's none of our business besides." 

"I'm sorry," she held up her hands, "Are we talking about you, Alec Hardy, the most suspicious, tight-laced bastard to ever come creeping down these halls–" 

"Oi, _steady_ on–" 

"–and _you're_ telling _me_ to leave someone alone?" 

"When it doesn't have anything to do with our jobs or our lives, yes." 

"How're you to know?" she muttered, distaste rolling off her tongue. "Probably here to start in on a new study with some “simple” small-town girls. The bastard."

His frustration was audible, half-way to a ragged groan. The trouble was that he _understood_. Alec couldn't blame her in any capacity. For all intents and purposes, Bill Masters _was_ a self-professed bastard. 

Alec didn't know how to explain to her why he hadn’t walked away from him on the beach that day or any of the days they happened upon each other since. That he found Bill prim, and to-the-point and quietly funny when it suited him. Or that he was itching for the stupid bastard to at least let him know he was still alive _._

It was a shame, too, because the outing of this had essentially destroyed any possibility of liking the man for Miller. And she had wanted to like him, Hardy could tell. But again he _did not know why that mattered._

"The man is on holiday. He's just here trying to get himself together. So unless he actually does something nefarious or runs a ring of girls somewhere just leave it be." 

"This is really so unlike you, you know. I’m a little concerned.” She stopped like she'd been struck, turning her head toward him with dramatic slowness, Oh _God_ , you're already seeing him, aren't you? I knew it, I _knew_ – "

"I'm not _seeing_ anybody, Miller." Hardy scoffed. "What kind of nonsense?” 

“Well if you’re not seeing him, what are you doing?” she huffed, "Because I've never seen you pay this much attention to anyone who wasn't a suspect and since _you_ say he's not committed any crimes on our soil...what do you want with him?” 

Miller’s emotions could, quite literally, shift like the tide. In place of her burning annoyance was now the smug light of her eyes and the twitch of her lips that so desperately wanted to curve up into a smile. This was what happened when you let people know you. They got _nosey_. Asked _questions._ And that was the trouble of it. He didn’t _know_ how to answer them right now _._

"Y'see _that,_ " Alec pointed at her, into her snobbish little face, "that is _precisely_ why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd be off the deep end about it. Every time I've ever seen him has been on _accident_ and likely because this entire town is the size of a hard-boiled egg." 

“I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. Even _friends_ can hurt you, Hardy. Not that I’ve ever seen you make this much time for a friend. I’m starting to question our own relationship to be honest.”

“For the love of God, Miller,” Hardy pinched the bridge of his nose. 

She rolled her eyes, huffing as she stood again. “Fine. I’ll drop it. But only if you promise you’ll be careful and that you’ll let me get a proper meeting with him outside of this hell hole.” 

Alec hissed through his teeth, “Did you knock your head? I _said_ there's nothing–.” 

Miller hummed, unconcerned as she dug her phone out of her pocket. "Yeah, alright. We'll decide on a time and place. Lunch later?" She asked as if they hadn't just been in the middle of the most ridiculous row in Hardy's recent memory. “Also, I just remembered David’s sending in those reports this morning. Sounding like multiple starting points in the last fire. They’re declaring it arson.”

"Course it is. We didn’t need them to tell us that.” He rolled his eyes. “We’ll need to start questioning the employees, " he replied because this is what they did; gone from one thing to the next in half a breath. "Find me at noon. And don't be late." 

Miller made a face, childishly mocking him as she left the room. He snarled at her back, annoyed, more than anything, that his ears were still burning.

* * *

  
  


“ _What’d you expect her to do, Bill? You had to have seen this coming.”_

"I don't know," Bill shifted on the couch, where he'd taken up residence an hour ago and had not been inclined to move since. "I didn't think–they're my _children_. She wants to take them halfway across the country." 

She hummed at him, " _Oh, yeah, you mean the country you aren't even in right now? I don't even know what you're all mad about in the first place. You went through a lot of trouble to not_ ** _have_** _kids, doc. Now you're...what? Gonna fight for them? Little late, dontcha think?"_

She was right, and he knew it. That was also the problem. Libby had thrown all of his sins back at him at the first sign of his resistance to the idea. Not that he knew what to _say_. But despite everything he'd done in the past, something had risen, sharp and bitter in his throat when Libby had told him she would be expecting full custody. Worse, when she’d informed him he would no longer be required in the children's lives at all. 

He thought of how Johnny’s mouth was almost always turned down in a scowl, the responsibility his son brought on himself for their actions. For Bill’s actions. How he was such a man already and how he hadn’t needed Bill for it not once. Yet sometimes he missed that boy like a phantom limb. It made sense, didn’t it? To feel like a part of you was missing when your children were gone. It had only taken him until now to realize that was why.

Libby had always deserved to be a mother. And Bill had tried to keep that from her. A fact that shamed and horrified him now, but she had found a way. He'd resented her for it, even as he knew it was her calling. The thing she wanted the most. That one, single thing that woke her with a smile each morning.

But there he’d been, too wrapped up in his own hubris and the folly of lust to care. Their children adored her and she, them. Meanwhile Bill, well, Bill had made himself an outcast in his own home. 

Now there was a squeezing in his chest. That cold, ache that he was rapidly understanding to be fear. There was something wrong with him. Some poison all the schooling and money and polish couldn’t wash away. Because it took the threat of their absence to make him realize how much he couldn’t bear to lose them entirely.

Breathing in felt like swallowing glass, and he couldn't hide the hitch. "She's right. I can't take care of them permanently, and I wouldn’t want to try. I don't even know what that would look like. But I don't want–I want to be _involved_. I want to do better by them." 

There was silence for a few moments before Betty groaned. Her voice became muffled slightly as she settled herself wherever she was. " _Then you're going to have to keep trying with her. Just quit wallowing and_ ** _do_ **_something besides grovel. I can’t speak for Virginia or Libby, but if I were either of them I sure as shit wouldn’t want your ‘Sorry’. Actions speak louder than words, doc._ "

"But how am I supposed to do that?" He asked, pathetic even to his own ears. 

_"How the hell should I know? You gave her a ghost all these years. Maybe stop talking to her like she's a child and show some goddamn emotion for once. If you can’t talk to Libby constructively, you sure as hell won’t survive talking to Virginia. And let me tell ya, I’m not keeping that at bay for much longer.”_

"Right," his huff came watery but what was he now that he cared if Betty heard him? His head hit the wall hard enough to send a sharp spark of pain, but he stared sightlessly at the wall. "I've really fucked this up, haven't I?" 

_"Yeah,"_ she sighed. _"Ya have. But on the bright side, it sounds like you're finally extracting your head out of your ass. Progress is good."_

**_‘'bout time you got your head out of your arse. ‘_ **

The memory crept up on him unbidden; Alec smirking at him from across the cafe table, wiping away a crumb from the corner of his mouth. "You sound like Alec." He muttered, then froze like he'd stolen a secret when he realized he’d said so out loud.

 _"Like who?"_ Betty’s voice came clear again, entirely too interested. 

"It’s nothing. No one." He said as he ground his knuckles hard into the wall. Berating himself because _of course why not make this situation worse, Bill?_

 _“Uh-huh,”_ She said. _"I mean, it’s just that you've said Alex's name at least three different times over the last two phone calls, so I figured you were fessing up about somethin’"_

" _Alec_ ," Bill corrected automatically then ripped the phone away from his ear, glaring in disgust like he could send all of it through the phone. "You're despicable and there's nothing to fess up about. He's a–" what? A stranger? No. A temporary neighbor? Technically, but... "An. Acquaintance." He finished lamely. 

_"Yeah, sure sweetie."_ She scoffed. _"Come on. If you're out there suddenly bagging overseas dick without telling me I'm revoking best friend privileges."_

Thinking back on his life, Bill could not understand what particular turn of events had led him to have to suffer this particular tone of hers. He’d done horrible things, yes, but this? "That's not–I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to imply _._

_"Bill, I've listened to the sad stuff. All 8000 years worth. Just tell me something good or I'm gonna have to come get you and Helen will be pissed I had to use all our airline miles."_

"It's really not what you think. It is— _odd,_ I’ll admit—but nothing like that.”

" _Please, doc. Gimme somethin’ to work with here."_

Bill frowned, clutching the phone. The same one with the messages he'd yet to answer from Alec. At first, he'd been too horrified. Then, after he called Libby back, he couldn't risk the possibility of his sorry state bleeding through to the man on the other side. Alec was aware, to a point, of his situation but he didn’t deserve a virtual stranger dumping all of his self-imposed angst onto him because he happened to be closest. A confrontation with Libby had always been coming. But for some reason, the thought of Alec looking at him with disgust, or worse— pity.

"Remember...how I told you about my incident with the police.." 

Betty hummed, triumphant. _"You slut."_

He ended up telling her everything. Because she asked him to, and because, in reality, he'd been wanting to in the first place. And also because thinking of Alec made it easier to breathe sometimes and he didn’t know what to do with it.

She listened silently about how they met. How, later, Alec found him sulking on the beach and told him to buck up ( _I like him already,_ Betty said) how infuriating he was when he knew he was right about something. 

Bill did breeze over the meeting in the street and the lunch that followed (because he was still trying to sort out the hum of contentment that memory brought him). Betty cackled at all the right (wrong) times, her voice growing hoarse as she coughed from a particularly jarring chortle. 

It was good to hear her laugh, even at his expense. All of their conversations had been some variation of the same, and even though he could tell she was annoyed with him, angry, even, she always picked up when he called. 

“ _I can’t believe this,_ ” Betty gasped. “ _You’ve been dating a Detective while I’ve been here trying to balance out your bullshit_. _You owe me a vacation. No, you owe me my own six month holiday._ ” 

“That is a complete misrepresentation of what I said.” He told her firmly. “I’m not even attracted—” 

“ _—to men, yeah, okay. But I feel like I could pick this guy out of a line up if I needed to because you just spent a lot of time telling me what he looked like_.” 

Heat crept up his neck and cheeks. “I did _not_.”

A knock startled him and he cradled the phone as he went to open it, almost dropping it when he saw who it was. 

"Alec?" He asked, stupidly. The other man was glaring at him from under that messy fringe of soft hair, awkward and irritated with it as he stood there in the entryway. 

"Oh. Hello. I guess you didn’t take off after all.” Alec said, the words coming near surprised as he looked at him. He nodded at the phone still clutched to Bill’s ear. “And I see that still works. Good to know.”

 _“You’ve got to be yankin’ me—is that_ **_him_ ** _?”_ Betty’s shriek came entirely too loudly from the tiny speaker and Bill silently asked for the floor to swallow him whole. _“He's Scottish?! Boss, let me just—”_

Bill hung up on her, face flushing painfully as he met Alec’s eyes. There was no accusation there, but Bill felt guilt creep in tense lines up his back. “No. _Yes_. I’m fine. I just had some business to take care of. It’s been a...trying few days.”

“Ah,” Alec said simply. “Well, I am sorry to hear that.”

Bill swallowed, suddenly forgetting everything he knew about maintaining under pressure. Alec was only looking at him, his expression relaxed, his body language normal (if a little stiff) and yet it felt like he was waiting for something. 

“Listen,” he began when the silence became unbearable. “I’m so—” 

"You're invited round for dinner." 

Bill blinked. "I am?" 

Alec did not seem in any hurry to respond. He just stood there studying Bill with such an intensity that it took actual willpower to resist the urge to fidget under that gaze. 

"Look, I said so didn’t I?" Alec huffed like the question annoyed him. "Yes. You are. Invited. Because someone needs to make sure you're fed and apparently this is what people do. Don’t take my word for it. If it goes badly, we’re both blaming Miller." 

Bill was staring and he was very aware of the way Alec shifted uncomfortably when the silence went on too long, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He’d thought for sure he’d scared Alec away with his idiocy the other night, and if not, then certainly when he couldn’t find it in him to return the text messages that had not-quite-managed to ask if he was doing alright. 

Now here Alec was, mouth twisted in an ugly scowl that didn’t have any business making Bill want to smile. And all it took was him showing up on Bill’s doorstep with his ridiculous hair and his sun-cast freckles because he’d been concerned about _him_. 

_You are an idiot, Bill._ He told himself. 

And like an idiot, he followed Alec home anyway. 

-&&-&&-&&-

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Bill said, following Alec through the entryway and into the heart of the house. It was homey. Woods and whites, clean but not pristine like the one Bill had kept with Libby. He’d expected many things from his home, once. The most important of which being that everything be put in its place just _so_. It had always been about the show of it. What did people see when they entered into his domain? His beautiful wife, his showroom-like home, and the illusion of a well put together life. 

Lord, was he insufferable even in his own memory. 

Alec’s home was a _home_ in every sense of the word. In a way that Bill’s had never been. Tidy, yes. Neat. But there were pops of color in the pilling afghans that lay haphazardly across the couch. Pictures and odd touches of decor that did not look like something he could see Alec picking out for himself. A slew of small, worn sneakers had been scattered by the door and when they passed the hall where the bedrooms were, he caught a whiff of sharp, bright perfume that must have belonged to the young lady Bill had accidentally seen before.

Wafting from the kitchen came the scent of fresh herbs and meat, alerting him to the fact that he really _hadn’t_ been eating as he should have in the last few days. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alec huffed, waving Bill into the kitchen. “I get by. Daisy has been on about my health as it was, though. She never lets me live it down if I’ve not managed a proper meal.” 

“Remind me to thank her for inspiring you to pay it forward.” Bill followed him; the scent of garlic and red meat growing stronger. Alec bent into the fridge and began rummaging around. “Daisy. She’s your daughter?” 

“Yeah. My only. Coming up on seventeen now.” Alec said from within the depths of his icebox. His lanky body somehow elongated even further by the bent lines of him, his fingers reaching impossible lengths as they stayed wrapped around the door. Bill cleared his throat and looked away. “You’ve children of your own don’t you?” 

The lump in Bill’s throat went down like acid. “Yes. Three.” 

Alec poked his head above the door to look at him and Bill realized that something in his tone must have slipped through. “Haven’t said much about them.” 

“That’s because it’s none of your business.” Bill snapped before stopping himself. He winced at the wide brown eyes that were now peaking up at him from over the door. It was entirely like him to be rude to someone offering a friendly face. Why would Bill have thought he’d be any different here. “Forgive me. It’s complicated.”

“Children are usually complicated,” Alec appeared completely unfazed, standing back up with a hunk of fresh cheese in one hand and a beer in the other. “It’s part of the package, really.” 

“I won’t argue that. I just...” Bill sighed. He didn’t even know where to begin. And maybe Alec was waiting for him to try, or maybe Bill was reading too much into, well, everything. “Is there something I could do?” 

“Nah,” Alec popped the beer open, tossing the cap in the bin. “It’s all sorted. Just need for it to finish simmering. I hope you don’t mind Italian. I suppose I should have asked.” 

“No, don’t worry about it. That sounds better than anything I’ve had in months” Bill’s eyes followed the bottle. “Should you be drinking that?” 

“Become a cardiologist in your self-imposed exile did you?” Alec’s eyebrow rose and he snorted, pressing it into Bill’s hands as he passed. “Don’t bother trying to fret. Once in a while, I’ll have a go, sure, but this is for you. Figured you needed a distraction before you bolted.” 

As irritating as it was; he was right. He could feel the way his shoulders sat, straight as a bowstring and his arms hanging limp and useless at his sides. There hadn’t been many occasions for him to be a guest in anyone’s home, but he was fairly certain this wasn’t the way to go about it. 

Their fingers brushed as he took it, the pads of Alec’s skin were rough and cool and Bill couldn’t explain why the split-second action seemed to last an eternity. He forced his shoulders to relax and let himself take a curious sip as Alec continued puttering around the kitchen. There wasn’t any particular reason why, but the monotonous actions were soothing in their own way. Alec was comfortable in his movements, tossing a dish towel over her shoulder as he leaned into the oven to frown mightily at the contents inside. 

Bread, Bill supposed, by the buttery smell that floated out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fresh bread like that. It found him touched at the fact that Alec had done all this and thought of him. Blossomed out into something warm from the center of his chest that he attributed to the ale. 

So he was here. With Alec. Feeling more at ease than he had in days. 

What the hell was he supposed to do now? 

“Ah. If I could...” he paused coming further into the kitchen and setting the bottle on the counter. Alec hummed at him in assent, prodding at the bread thoughtfully, so Bill started again. “Look, I just wanted to say—” 

“No, no, no. Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t drag you in here for an apology, Masters.” Alec closed the oven again and turned around, crossing his long arms over his chest. He looked as if he’d been ready for this conversation and Bill quietly envied him that because he never quite felt like he knew what he was doing anymore. “You don’t owe me anything. But in my experience, and you can tell me to fuck off if I’m wrong, but if someone hides away for days at a time they’re usually going through something upsetting.” He shrugged his bony shoulders, looking away as if embarrassed. “And you don’t have to tell me what it was by any means, but you can at least eat the bloody pasta so I know I’m not gonna be called in to recover a body.”

Guilt warred with the bare, lonely part of him that had desperately been wanting to be cared for. Bill could be theatrically obtuse when it came to many things, but it was obvious at this point that somehow in their three short weeks of knowing each other, there was a distinct possibility that they might be something like friends. 

“Well,” Bill cleared his throat. “Even if you don’t want it, I _am_ sorry I worried you.” 

Alec’s eyes were wide, his lips sucked in until his mouth was a flat line like he couldn’t fathom what Bill could be talking about. Ever. At all. Not in a million years. When he released his lips, he shook his head, eyes trailing over the floor, the walls, the ceiling—everywhere except for Bill’s face.“Nngh.‘Wasn’t worried. Neighborly thing to do isn’t it.” 

“Right. Yes.” Bill’s mouth twitched, pulling into a smile when Alec’s did the same. “Neighborly.” 

A bell chimed, alerting them that the bread was done. Alec uncoiled himself from his perch, sliding a pair of navy blue oven mitts on his hands that were covered in white polka dots. 

“Cute,” Bill said. 

“Shut up.” 

Alec allowed him, after some prodding, to dish out the puttanesca onto plates. He happily inhaled the scent of the thick, ripe olives and capers while Alec tended to the bread. The first cut of it sent a rolling ache of hunger through him and Bill vowed to never let himself get quite this hungry again. The walk from the stove to the table was almost agony. 

The plates successfully on the table, he let Alec shoo him away into the chair at the far end of the table. He sat, waiting for Alec to finish getting their drinks. There was an alarming couple of seconds where it looked like one of the glasses was going to hit the floor but he managed to grab a hold of it before it could topple over. Bill caught the flush of red against Alec’s collar. 

“That could have gone worse.” He said as Alec came near.

“Nothing ever gets past you does it?” 

“Isn’t that the point of dinner? To have a conversation?” 

Alec blinked at him like he’d grown another head. “No? I mean. Isn’t it to eat? Rude to talk with your mouth full.” 

“Couldn’t we have just done that in our separate homes?” Bill asked, his voice creeping into laughter.

Alec set the glass in front of him. “Maybe, if you could be trusted to take care of yourself.” 

Three days. It had been three days of wallowing, three days of helplessness, and anger, and self-loathing— and he hadn’t realized until right this very moment that he had actually managed to miss _whatever_ this was that they did when they were in the same room.

“Listen, Alec, I—”

Alec raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. "Yeah?"

Emboldened, Bill reached out to brush his fingers over Alec’s wrist to still him. He made sure Alec’s eyes lifted to his before he lost his nerve and tossed himself into the open ocean, then said: “Thank you.” 

And the way that little smile reached up to crinkle the skin around Alec’s eyes was worth the terror of his heart thudding loudly against his breast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like you guys are gonna enjoy the next chapter. :D


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've survived 2020, as you can see, though it really tried there at the end to steal my soul. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy my first offering of 2021.
> 
> ALSO, my dear friend jickdraws(insta)/It-Is-Ineffable(tumblr) has drawn a BEAUTIFUL pic for this chapter. Give him some love!
> 
> [Slight Spoilers for End of Chapter](https://www.instagram.com/p/CKE9v2bF1fG/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)

_Sometimes we learn too slow_

_And stumble through shadows of stories we've told_

_Let them come, let them go_

_These feelings are visitors that don't knock on doors_

_'Cause the light shines through the cracks in our hearts_

_Onto the flaws in our souls_

_Where the evergreen grows_

_We'll never really need to ever really know,_

_'Cause these woods are safe place to go_

**_Evergreen — Pekoe_ **

  
  


Hardy could easily remember the last time he’d cried, the last time he’d let his rage rip through him in a scream, the last time that anger had carried on into violence. The hopelessness, the anxiety, the fear; he knew them all entirely too well to come back from their touch. 

But he was rapidly understanding, here, with Bill Masters of all people, that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d _laughed_ like this. 

“So she locks arms with me from behind,” Bill says, an entire flashback playing behind his eyes. “In the middle of my own clinic—when _anyone_ could have walked in— and hauls me up onto her back. I’m in agony, you understand, I cannot move, and then she starts—bouncing? But then she actually managed to _fix it._ ” 

The bewilderment coloring his voice did little to persuade Hardy’s lungs to allow him to inhale. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed after a moment, fluttery chuckles falling from his lips. “I’m—I can only imagine your face. How’d you manage to get yourself into that in the first place?” 

Bill’s face flushed. He looked physically pained. “I fell out of a window.” 

“A window?” 

“Virginia’s window.” 

“Ah.” Hardy let the word elongate, mocking.

A groan. “Her parents had arrived unexpectedly, alright? I tried to leave but the window was my only op—oh _shut up.”_ Bill said, growling under his breath in a way that had Hardy’s head flicking back with the force of his laughter. 

“You _idiot_ .” Hardy cackled. " Sneaking out of your mistress's house like a randy teenager. It's a wonder you're even _alive.”_

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you that story,” Bill grumbled, reaching for the phone that Alec still clutched in his hand. In it, Betty was the epitome of class with her perfectly coiffed hair and her smart skirts, but there was mischief behind her eyes and in the curve of her lips, a perfect warning of how she knew _far_ too much to cross. 

“You should have told me that story _first,_ I might have liked you better _._ ” Hardy elbowed him away, still chuckling like a bloody teenager but too loose-limbed to care about it just yet. “Knowing you’re not always so put together makes you that much more tolerable.” 

The doctor sighed like he couldn’t help it, but Hardy didn’t miss the way his smile stuttered and broke through, even in the dim porch light. “Yes, because you are such a _joy.”_

Hardy snorted. “Not even I can say that with a straight face.”

Anyone that knew either of them would look in on this situation and find it strange. Neither Hardy nor Bill were men that bothered with things like socializing when there was no end goal within reach. People were a bizarre type of animal, and Hardy definitely avoided this kind of thing as much as he could without being impolite. But dinner had gone surprisingly easy after their initial foray through stumbling apologies and a joint inability to handle basic human situations, and he was, God forbid, enjoying himself. Apparently, there were ways to bond over ineptitude. 

Bill made a clicking sound with his tongue. “What I truly need you to understand is that I have never once been in control of my life where Betty was concerned.” 

Returning the phone to its proper owner, Hardy dipped his head. “Isn’t that the way of it?” His back hit the wall of the cottage and he relaxed against it. There were chairs out here on the patio that they’d originally taken coffee at as the sun started to set, but when Hardy had gone back in and sat on the stoop he hadn’t found any reason to move. “I’d forgotten what it was like to have friends until Miller.” He continued after a moment, wrinkling his nose in good humor. “Could’ve done without the nagging, to be honest.”

“If you ever find out the secret to getting that to stop, I’d gladly pay you for it. It’s exhausting at best.” He paused, then let his mouth twitch again in concession to whatever thought had crossed his mind. “Honestly though, I don’t think I’d have made it without her. I got so—” his lips pressed together into a flat line. “Stuck inside my own head.”

Hardy nodded. _That_ he understood. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s how they get you. Wriggle right in under your skin until you can’t ever be rid of them.” Leaning back against the door, he spread his legs out in front of him, wincing at the small cracks in his bones. _God_ , he was getting old. “‘Suppose it’s not all bad, in the end.”

Bill’s smile spread slowly, like a secret. “It isn’t always, no.” He settled himself as much as he could, though Hardy had rarely seen a pile of limbs try so hard to uncoil themselves since his own. “How did you end up in Broadchurch?”

“Ah, well...” Hardy made a face as he trailed off, moving to let his free hand hang off his bent knee and inhaling the sharp, briny smell of the ocean that he’d learned to tolerate (cuz he didn’t _like_ it by any means). _How_ was a question he still found himself asking too.

Bill leaned back against the wall too, unhurrying. He turned the mobile over in his fingers and breathed in time with the rush of waves. They weren’t touching in any capacity, but Hardy could feel the warmth radiating from Bill’s side, entirely reminiscent of the heat that had raced from the man’s fingertips and into his own back in his kitchen. 

Truly, the fact that Hardy had survived the encounter up ‘til now was a miracle in itself. His last few poor attempts at interacting with _people_ outside of work necessities had died fiery deaths long before he’d gotten out more than a sentence or two. And those were all circumstances that had managed to remain just shy of impersonal. Here, he still felt the phantom weight of that gentle touch sweeping over the knobs of his knuckles, caressing the crescent of skin near his thumb. Hardy could _certainly_ still feel the way his skin still turned hot and clammy at once, warring enough to withhold his need for a jacket despite the crispness of the air. 

_Touch-starved idiot. Stop_ **_thinking_ ** _about it._ It only brought trouble when a man pondered too deeply about something that sent his skin buzzing. 

“It’s strange how it happens.” he flicked his hand out at the sea with more calm than he felt. Silence didn’t bother him. “Went from the city to this. Hated everything about it. Everyone in it. Was determined to get out as soon as I could after— after the trial.” 

Bill, thank everything, was apparently perceptive enough to notice the tenseness of his jaw at the memory and didn’t press. “Why didn’t you?” 

Hardy exhaled slowly. “Oh, I did. I left, went back to my home, tried to start over again with my wife. But it felt wrong. Like I didn’t fit anymore. And all the bloody arguing just made Daisy even more miserable. I’d thought that if I could just— _end it_ ; if I could finally bring out the truth of what happened to those girls, things could go back to normal.” Hardy grimaced. He didn’t know why it all came tumbling out like that.

Tess hadn’t been quite as enamored with the idea, but she’d indulged him. She was long since past anything more than a fond pitying of the man she’d already played for a fool once. It hadn’t taken much time to find that what Hardy had been chasing was no longer where he’d left it. “D’you know how unsettling it is to wake up one morning and realize you’d made a home of something you didn’t want?” 

“Yeah,” Bill folded his legs. Watched Alec’s face. “I’ve just never been happy with the outcome. I’m glad that for you, at least, you ended up where you were meant to be.”

Hardy’s bafflement appeared in the form of a snort. “I don’t believe in fate. Luck, maybe. Though I’ve not seen too much of that myself either.” 

“Neither do I.” Bill shrugged, contemplative. “But you wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to believe.” 

Hardy could feel himself blinking what was likely an inappropriate amount of times before a bewildered huff of air escaped him. “You are something else Masters, I’ll give you that.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I didn’t say it was a compliment.” 

“It certainly sounded like one.” 

“Ach,” Hardy muttered, jerking his knee out to nudge the other man. He reached out to snag Bill’s drink from the table and drank through the other doctor’s freezing glare. Even a man with a heart problem needed to make concessions for himself in the face of _socialization._ “Shut up and tell me something interesting if you’re wanting compliments.”

Bill took the bottle back, gripped the neck with thick, strong fingers, and glared down his nose at him for a moment. Then turned to wrinkle it at the bottle like it offended him. “Was that really necessary?” 

“You won’t let me have one myself, will you?” Hardy’s grin was sharp-edged when Bill pursed his lips at him before slowly taking a drink himself. “Go on, then. We’re all waiting.”

Bill took his sweet time, letting the liquid linger in his mouth before swallowing. “When I was young,” He began, the tip of the bottle still resting on his bottom lip, “I was a boxer.” 

“You were _not.”_ Hardy scoffed. Bill’s eyebrows rose up, challenging, his head tilted to the side. 

The line of Bill’s shoulders shook, and there, a spark of something boyish in the challenging quirk of his brow. “Stand up, I’ll show you.” 

The remark died on Hardy’s tongue, his mouth hanging open before sinking into a scowl at the tell-tale curve of Bill’s lips when he finished off the bottle. 

"Good to know you can take a punch," Hardy grumbled, rubbing his fingers against the flushed curve of his cheek. "Solid information. I'll keep that in mind."

Bill laughed. 

Twilight drifted into dark that way, bathing them in only the glow of the porch light; one in the string of houses that dotted along the shoreline. The conversation flowed easily enough with neither of them having any sort of desire to tamp down on himself to impress the other. There were advantages, Hardy supposed, to getting the gritty bits out the way first. Bill didn’t flinch when Hardy’s voice took an edge, didn’t expect an apology when his rebuttals turned sharp No, he simply returned them back to him with a face of granite and sparkling eyes. 

It was easy to talk to someone that didn’t expect you to drip kindness from your every pore. Hardy loved fiercely, protected people as best he could, but he wasn’t particularly nice. Thankfully, neither was Bill. 

When the conversation inevitably turned to Bill’s past, Hardy listened. It wasn’t the whole story, probably just a fraction of it really, but Masters didn’t owe him anything more than that. He was just a set of ears. What the papers never got right was that behind every stupid, ugly decision was usually just a person who was lost and looking for answers that never came. It was how you dealt with the aftermath that made you who you were. 

Pain had a way of stealing from you, and eventually, Bill's words petered off into the night. He was spinning his empty bottle gently between flat palms, eyes glossy and elsewhere. Hardy took the opportunity to reach over and grab his (sadly alcohol-free) mug off the table next to him. When he plopped back down on the stoop, he was close enough to Bill that their shoulders brushed. He stiffened momentarily but Bill didn’t react. “Would it be overstepping my bounds to tell you what I think?” 

That seemed to startle his companion out of his haze enough to look at him. The begrudging curve of his mouth was enough to know Hardy had managed something right. 

“Yes,” Bill said. Alec was alarmed to realize how much closer his eyes were. He did not take that into the equation, the way they made him stumble. “Though that never seems to stop you.” 

“ _Bugger_ off. I don’t think either of us is winning any awards for being personable” Alec huffed, distracting himself with his drink when Bill laughed. There were eyes on the side of his face, and when he turned he was surprised to see Bill still smiling at him. He’d been doing that since dinner. Smiling at him. With thin lips that managed to purse so tightly, they’d almost disappear, that would suddenly fan out into small, real smiles from underneath greying whiskers. 

Every single time it felt like something precious. Every single time Hardy had found it more difficult to look away.

Bill had been all harsh lines and dark clouds in almost all of their prior meetings. Something rippling there behind the furrow of his brow and the straightness of his spine that spoke of a man in hiding from himself. 

Now, three beers in with a full belly and a string of laughter in his wake, Hardy could see it. So clear and familiar that he felt it echo in the slowly healing cracks of his own heart. Sitting there always in the creases of Bill’s mouth. That _ache_ for what he’d destroyed. It wasn’t pride that was holding his shoulders stiff. He was just living through the consequences of his actions with the knowledge that he was _due_ to live through them. 

“I think,” Hardy continued pointedly, “That you should listen to Betty, for starters. There isn’t going to be an easy solution. If that’s how they feel, you’re going to have to let them hate you for a while.” He leaned back to meet Bill’s dark eyes in the moonlight. “You need to come to terms with that. And maybe someday, if you show your true colors, things will be able to change for the better.”

Bill’s mouth twisted. “I think showing too much of myself was the problem,” he said blankly.

“Oh, don’t be crass.” 

“No, I—” Bill deflated, reaching up to rub at his eyes. Ah. Not a joke then. “I mean I don’t think I was meant for it. Any of it. Family, or children, or…” He trailed off. “I’m not like you, Alec.” 

“Oh, sure, yeah, everyone is _dying_ to be like me.” He stretched his arms out, his back was stiff now from sitting but he was in no hurry. “You know, not everyone wants the same things, Masters. You’re smart enough to figure that out. If a family wasn't what you wanted, why'd you pursue it?” 

“It was necessary,” Bill said like it was obvious. Like that was a perfectly normal response. “If I was going to do the work I wanted then I needed—” He stopped mid-sentence, disgust clouding his features. “God, it’s even worse saying it out loud.” 

“You won’t find any argument from this corner.” Hardy huffed. “May as well pay for new tires if you're to let your wife back over you with her car.” 

“That’s...probably fair.” Bill sighed, long and deep before sitting back up with clear eyes and a settled expression. His shoulders lifted around his ears for a moment before slumping down, pressing the two of them somehow even closer. Hardy's jaw clenches, trying not to let his body lean too far into the warmth. Right, yes, because it was an entirely logical reaction to the current situation Hardy, well done. 

“I need to go back.” Bill's voice broke through his thoughts. Hardy's gaze flits up to the man's face. “It’s gone on long enough and I...It's time I took responsibility.” Bill’s eyes were ever-bright again, his brows furrowed in something like resolve. Hardy admired the way it strengthened the line of his jaw, straightened him back out. 

He believed him, Hardy realized. But it wasn't him Bill had to convince. 

“Well,” Hardy said consideringly, “if it doesn’t all go tits up and they _don’t_ kill you...you could always wander back this way. Kick up for a proper holiday.”

Bill’s head snapped to the side to look at him. He looked shaken, almost. Like he couldn't believe the words. It hung in the air between them as Alec watched the way Bill’s face tried to say a hundred different things that he couldn’t quite voice. 

What had once been a comfortable, cool breeze had suddenly thickened, morphed into a fog overwhelming enough to press against his chest. 

Hardy rubbed at the sore spot around his heart, something like panic rising in the grooves between his lungs. He could barely remember what it was like to see someone and was utter and complete rubbish the spare few times he’d tried. He was too awkward, too brash, too _much_ for a normal person to want to burden themselves with. It was a fact he’d accepted long ago. His scars were too heavy for anyone else to carry, hanging precariously on the slope of his own shoulders. 

Not that there was any _seeing_ happening here. Bill had his own ghosts. He was just as broken, had just as many pieces missing. Hardy felt that. He knew what it was like. That's all. 

His hand was resting on the wood between them, crammed nearly under his own thigh in an attempt to maintain their space because he knew what it meant that he didn't _want to._ Bill turned from him, looking out again into the sea as if it calmed him, going soft in the light. Hardy was slowly starting to learn that when Bill was deep in thought he looked _through_ things. 

Studying Bill’s profile left Alec far too unaware for his own liking, and when the briefest of touches swept against the side of his hand, his vision tilted momentarily. 

Hardy was a detective, a father, an ex-husband, and a grown man who was now well on his way to imploding because his little finger was pressed against someone else’s. 

Bill's eyes lifted to meet his, terrified and stubborn with it, and pressed the side of his hand more firmly in Alec’s. Hardy was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing. He hated this. The way Bill threw him off his footing so easily. Rattle his thoughts so surely that Alec could hardly remember which way was up.

“Maybe this place isn't done with me yet,” Bill managed, his voice tight like it was just barely squeezing through. “I think...I'd like to. Come back, that is. See more." 

Hardy's traitorous heart quickened. "Can't imagine you've managed much, holed up in that house by yourself. But you also don't seem the small-town type.”

Bill's eyebrows rose and fell like a nod. "I still don't know what 'type' I am." His head fell back and leaned toward Hardy, which put them in an interesting position considering Hardy's face was angled down to look at him. "I hear Broadchurch has a way of helping you figure that out."

Hardy's breath caught, staring into the tiny quirk of Bill’s mouth, mortified when his own turned up in answer. The man hadn't _said_ anything of importance but it _felt..._

Here they were again, smiling at each other like idiots and Hardy didn't know what to do about it. This arrogant, infuriating man that kept wandering right into his line of sight. So often Hardy had started looking _for_ him instead of turning the other way. 

In the back of his mind, he knew what that meant. Knew what this blossom of fondness in his chest could easily turn to. So maybe he liked the bastard. Maybe they understood each other a little better than most.

Maybe it didn't have to be a bad thing. 

"I've a feeling you'd be finding your way with or without it," said Hardy, his voice lower than he intended. "But, if I could make a suggestion?" 

Bill lifted an eyebrow at him. 

"Stay out of people's windows, mate." He fought a smile. "I'll answer the door if you knock. Eventually." 

"I think I can do that." Bill's grin lifted the rounds of his cheeks, his crow's feet deepened, fanning out next to his too-bright eyes. Hardy's breath caught. He barely noticed his damnable hair falling against his forehead until Bill locked onto it, the muscles in his hand twitching like he wanted to brush it away.

 _Oh,_ Hardy thought just as they were blinded with light. 

* * *

  
  


“Dad? Are you out h— _Oh_ my God. I'm–so _sorry."_

Bill was not a man who truly believed in anything supernatural or fantastical, but he could note with aching accuracy the few instances of his life in which he could actually feel his soul leave his body. 

He’d barely registered the flash of light before he and Alec were wrenching apart from each other (and his heart was still beating an unhealthy rhythm from the thought alone), adjusting his eyes until he was staring up into the face of Alec’s obviously very confused child. 

“D— _Christ,_ ” Alec’s hand flew to his chest, his body only barely on the step. “Warn a man next time, wouldn’t you? I’ve a _heart condition.”_

“Exactly! You didn’t answer your phone! And you weren’t in the house! How was I supposed to know you were out here with—” She waved her hand at Bill. “Him!” 

_Him._ Like she knew exactly who he was. Bill’s gaze shot back to Alec, questioning. It wasn’t so far outside the realm of possibility that Alec would have mentioned him to his daughter. But it was the possible circumstances of _why_ he would that made the thought terrifying.

Alec’s mortification was far clearer in the light. “ _Daisy_."

They seemed to share words in the painfully similar slope of their eyebrows. Daisy smiled into her father’s frown like there wasn’t a thing in this world she was less afraid of. 

“Right. Well. Sorry about barging in.” She said, lifting her hand in a small wave. Bill dearly wanted to be a puddle on the floor in the face of this teenager. “Hello, Mr. Masters. Good to see you.” 

How did children always manage to look at you like they _knew_?

Regardless, it was little short of a miracle when he managed to stand on shaky legs. He cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Er, hello. Daisy. Your father is... very fond of you.” 

Through the shrieking in Bill’s ears, he thought he heard Alec mutter something along the lines of “oh god” but did his best to ignore it. Daisy, to her credit, only pressed her lips together for a moment to hold back her laughter before offering her hand in return. “I mean. I hope so.” she shook once before dropping his hand and pointing back into the house. “Well, I’m gonna just go get ready for bed. You two enjoy your d—”

“ _Dais’.”_

“—ay to day lives!”

She left them in a flurry of blond hair and fluorescent light as Bill gaped on the stoop like a simpleton. His heart was racing like he’d been caught with his hands somewhere they shouldn’t have been, flexing at his sides as they were. Alec was rubbing mercilessly at his eyes with one hand while the other perched on the slope of his hip. 

For a moment, there was nothing but the joint sound of their breathing and the gentle sway of the ocean. 

Bill breathed in. Held it. Let it release. 

“I may have fucked that up.” 

Alec’s laugh was something between a wheeze and a sob, but it was a laugh all the same.

* * *

  
  


Bill booked a flight back to the states the next morning. He had two more weeks in Broadchurch (at least, he promised himself, for now) which meant he had two weeks to forget about the existential dread that fell upon him every time he thought about what he was going to say when he got there. 

He almost hadn’t clicked “Purchase”. Part of him wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his days as far away from his family as humanly possible, to avail all of them of what was sure to be a painful situation. Let them hate him, he thought. He could handle it from across an ocean. 

But he didn’t want to be that kind of coward anymore. Couldn’t sit back while his children disappeared from his life forever, or the women he’d loved (for he had loved Libby once) went through with their lives thinking that he didn’t regret how he’d treated them. That he wanted to change.

No, Bill would never be able to move on without making it right. He didn’t need absolution. He just needed them all to _know_. What they did with that knowledge, well, Bill would accept it. 

So he’d bought his ticket, packed everything that he didn’t need from day to day, settled with the owner of the building, and didn't quite manage to ever stop thinking about the way Alec had looked at him in the dark. 

Men had never been an option as far as Bill had been concerned. Despite any wayward inclinations he may have had, there was a specific image he needed to maintain in order to get where he wanted to be in his career. Heads of hospitals were, unfortunately, often of _another time_ and put their support behind certain _types_ of people. 

Bill knew what it was to desire and be desired, but to be _looked_ at, to not have to hide the _undesirable_ parts of you and still be found _worthy…_

More than once Bill had found himself burying his face into his hands, trying in vain to stop the silly, childish smile from splitting across his face when he thought about the line of Alec's throat when he laughed or the way he talked with his hands. How he met Bill barb for barb with an acerbic wit that thrilled him. 

Bill had always enjoyed someone who could challenge him. Though it always seemed that afterward when it quieted, when the fire cooled low, the connection would dissipate. Leaving him fumbling for the threads as they slipped through his fingers. 

But things hadn't gotten awkward or rushed this time. Hidden there under Alec's bluster was a warmth, unlike anything Bill had encountered before. It didn't push, it didn't lead, it simply wrapped around you, settled across your skin with no expectations. 

" _Fuck_ ," Bill whispered to himself with feeling, pushing his body up from the counter. His chest was going to cave in if he kept this up. He couldn't think about this now. There were so many things he needed to put to bed before he could... _before._

And that was how he found himself once again wandering the streets of Broadchurch, this time with the careful gaze of someone who knew it would be the last. For a while, at least.

Had it only been a couple of months? It all felt so familiar to him now. This tiny town with its neighborly quality, the smell of salt on the breeze, the little houses lined up along hills and valleys. When did it get to a point where the quaintness didn’t feel suffocating? 

Efa greeted him with a smile as he walked into the cafe, mouthing his order at him and bustling off when he nodded and went to seat himself at his table. The one that never appeared to have anyone else sitting in it, now that he noticed.

When she returned she asked after his mood, promising a fresh bun and today’s newspaper with a smile that he returned, admitting to himself that he would miss this when he was gone. He spent a leisurely hour that way before making his way up to the register to pay. 

"Oh," Efa's smile was fond. "No, love. You've been handled already." 

Bill blinked, taken aback. "Have I? By whom?" He looked around, confused. There wasn't really anyone else in the cafe yet, let alone someone he knew. "I should return the favor, at least."

"DI Hardy, come to find." Her smile tilted at the corners, eyes gleaming. "Insisted your usual be settled." She leaned over the counter, her chin resting in her hand. "You'll have to let us in on your secret. Not usually a man of little gestures, your Alec." 

_Your Alec._

This was as good a time as any to remind himself he was not _actually_ sixteen years old and therefore should not be in any way affected by the assumptions of a nosey waitress. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." 

Efa giggled, a delighted rush of foreign words trickling from behind her hand and then: "I'm sorry, pay me no mind. I thought–"

Bill slapped a twenty on the counter between them, clearing his throat and blessing the beard that covered the greater expanse of his face. _Oh, God._ "Thank you. Ah. Thank you very much. This is for you." He slid the bill closer to her and patted it twice for–some reason. "I have to go." 

He turned to leave before he did something truly embarrassing, half-heartedly returning Efa's wave as he did so. When he stepped outside the door it was to the little ringing of the bell and the sun on his face. The next inhale almost hurt.

 _Not a man of small gestures._ Her voice echoed. Bill rubbed his hand against the curve of his mouth. No, he was fairly certain that Efa, like many people, might have underestimated Alec's propensity for caring. 

Bill Masters, undone by a cup of coffee. He'd laugh if his chest wasn't squeezing so tightly. With his left hand curled up near his chest, he unconsciously rubbed at the round of his right, brushing against the side of his little finger to try to recapture the ghost of a feeling.

The bell sang again when he entered, striding up to the counter where Efa looked up at him in surprise. 

"Forget something?"

Bill coughed, chewing on the inside of his mouth. His mother always hated when he did that. Well, she'd have a heart attack if she could see what he was thinking now. 

"Would you mind making an order to take with me?"

Efa's knowing smile lit up her face. "I won't be a minute." 

-&&-&&-&&-

Human anatomy was comfortable. The inner workings of the body were as familiar to Bill as the outer and far less complicated than the consequences of emotions. 

He frowned over the iPad, dragging his notes into the diagram with his pen. It was a smooth process. Clean. He enjoyed both of those factors. But Bill was nothing if not a traditionalist and he found himself missing the feel of pencil scratching against paper. 

When the phone vibrated rudely against the tabletop he gripped for it without looking, still narrowing his eyes at the article he'd been switching back and forth from. "Yes?" 

" _You bought me lunch."_

"You bought me breakfast." Bill returned easily, pushing his glasses back into position. He pretended his insides weren't swooping. "Don't sound so insulted." 

" _M'not_ . _Just. Unexpected is all._ " 

"Take it as a thank you, then," said Bill. "Though I should probably warn you, you've likely started something of a rumor if Efa's expression was any indicator." 

Alec snorted. " _You need to get out more if you think this'll be the first of the rumors. You_ **_were_ ** _the one who kept meeting me in broad daylight after all."_

“I’m still not hearing…” 

_“Jesus,”_ Hardy muttered. Bill smirked into the receiver. _“ **Thank you**. First thing I’ve managed today actually. I think Miller was gearing up to hook me up to a tube at any moment.” _

“You sound like you’re going to fall over.” Bill gently pushed the tablet away, leaning on his elbows. Well, that was the nice way of putting it when Alec sounded like he’d gone right from their dinner to the office and hadn’t slept at all. 

A pause on the other end was telling enough. There was a shuffling of footsteps as the other man stood and the click of a door before Alec settled again in his chair. Bill could picture him, muscles taught, body hunched over his desk, dark circles around his eyes. _“It’s been a night.”_ He said. “ _Been here since about half three. This case hasn’t been kind to the sleep schedule_.” 

Guilt crept hotly into the base of his throat. “I’m sorry. I should have been more considerate of how late it was when I left.” 

_“Shut up,”_ Alec growled. His accent was thickening with every breath, vowels curving into each other and sliding down Bill’s spine. Everything felt so much closer over the phone. _“Wasn’t kicking you out was I? 'Sides, we've made some promising headway. It'll be over once all the bloody paperwork is submitted. There are worse reasons to be stuck here until the wee hours.”_

“I understand,” Bill said because he did. He wasn’t going to berate Alec for wanting to finish what he’d started. There had been plenty of sleepless nights in Bill’s rearview mirror because of the work, the patients—that was what mattered most. “I’m glad I could contribute to you surviving another day. Just try to…” Bill’s words caught in his throat. Who was he to sit here worrying over him? _Be careful? Take care of yourself?_ It wasn’t his _place_ , was it?

Alec seemed to hear him anyway, his voice lilting down into a low chuckle that he hid by clearing his throat. _"Yes, yes, alright already with your fussing."_

"I don't _fuss."_

_"Grand Fusser, you."_

"I was returning a favor," Bill huffed. "And you called _me."_

 _"Oh, aye, forgive me, I forgot we had an altruist on our hands."_ Alec's voice was full of mirth and Bill pressed his own smile against his knuckles.

"I'm hanging up," Bill warned. He hesitated again before deciding, "And it would be in your best interests to focus on your work so that you can get some rest. We don't need you gallivanting around in your condition with no sleep." 

_"As you say. Miller's stalking around outside anyway. Which reminds me of something I'm meant to ask you in her stead but as I've been banished to my work it will have to wait."_

Bill's eyes narrowed. "Alec–" 

_"Sorry, Masters, duty calls. Bye now."_

The phone beeped off at him when Alec ended the call and Bill gaped at it for a moment before huffing out a bewildered laugh and setting it down on the table. That man was trouble. He was trouble, and Bill enjoyed it far too much for it to function as sanity. 

Shaking his head, he let himself fall back into his work because it needed to be done and because his curiosity had a tendency to run away with him if he wasn't otherwise engaged. It didn't help as much as he would have liked. He wondered what in the world Alec could need to ask him, let alone how it would also pertain to DS Miller.

He was still actively _not_ thinking about it twenty minutes later when his phone buzzed at him again, this time with a simple text: 

_Stop thinking so hard. Your mouth will get stuck like that and then where would we be._

Bill's head shot up to look out the window he was sitting next to, half expecting to see Alec smirking at him from the garden, but there was nothing but the birds and the tiny dotted movements of people playing on the beach. 

**_We both know that old wives tale is not based in any sense of medical realism._ ** He typed out. **_What makes you think I've thought about it at all?_**

_Instinct. The little line above your nose is a tell. Probably sneering at the phone as we speak._

**_That's a lot of attention to pay to someone's face, Detective Inspector._ **

_That's a lot of words to say I'm right. Doctor._

He read the messages again and felt the muscles of his face smooth out on command. It was nonsense, the whole thing. Childish, unproductive banter. Yet Bill was endlessly glad that no one was actually looking in on him at this very moment. 

He had a suspicious feeling his expression would give him away. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you all didn't have to get up and walk away after Bill met Daisy, you're stronger than me. The man is out here making me take LAPS.

**Author's Note:**

> I've said this before but it's [Cards_Slash's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash) fault that these bastards periodically haunt me day and night. A playlist has been made. (Which, to those of you who don't know me—THAT'S CODE RED LEVEL OF OBSESSION, MY FRIENDS)
> 
> If you enjoy this and wanna pop over and talk to me about them, anytime, honestly, I'm also [HERE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stardust-andwine) on Tumblr.


End file.
